


It is Alwasys Dark Before the Dawn

by singforthemoment333



Series: It is Alwasys Dark Before the Dawn [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Character Death, Divination, Drama, F/M, Familiars, Fantasy, Gen, Hogwarts, Necromancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singforthemoment333/pseuds/singforthemoment333
Summary: Harry Potter enters the wizarding world unaware of the dangers that lurk beneath the surface.  He struggles in classes, his magic not responding the way it should. How can he fulfill the destiney that everyone expects like this? His only hope in tipping the balance in his facore is to delve into the more esoteric magics. With a Harry Potter focused on divination, mind magic, enchanting, and necromancy.The world is AU, with a slightly modified magic system and world setting. The soonest someone will "date" is third year, and that is a liberal word use.The first two chapters have been betaed, but sadly my beta had to leave. I would truly enjoy help with grammer and phrasing so if anyone is interested let me know.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini, Hestia Carrow & Harry Potter, Tracey Davis & Harry Potter
Series: It is Alwasys Dark Before the Dawn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657888
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, and I need a beta. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. This story Idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. The first and last chapter of each segment of the story will be told by a perspective other than Harry. These chapters will always be marked with Prologue and Epilogue. Please tell me if you are interested in being my beta, please!

Prologue

The wind howled outside the window, the soft pattering upon the roof of the tower as if the sky was crying. The world outside ripped apart as lighting circled all around. An old man sat upon a throne-like chair, alone with his thoughts. Alone with his ever-crushing hopes, his eternal despair. The years had passed away, bringing with it the turn from auburn to grey to white, yet despite the change on the outside, he was always a failure. Another crack followed bringing more light to the candlelit room, his powerful companion of 35 years sitting on his desk.

The wind blew and the rain came down.

Albus Dumbledore was a man of regret, a man who lived in the past. Of a life where every decision he had made had led to the worst possible outcomes, yet people continued to try to make him make decisions for the world. Always hailing him as a great man. He wasn't a great man, undoubtedly he was a great wizard, but no, not a great man. It had only been three years prior that Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Anthony Addington had stepped down and offered the prestigious role to him, the campaign was run essentially non-opposed despite the wizard's lack of passion for the position. For his passion had always been teaching, followed closely by transfiguration, with ancient lore coming in a distant third. If the rumors were to be believed Silvain Boisselot was to be stepping down from his position as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW the next year and was jockeying for Albus to fill that role as well.

Why was the world always put upon his shoulders, Albus missed the days before his old friend's folly, back when he could freely explore his craft and share its gift amongst the young of the world. The hours passed as the pensive man looked at the future, its appearance not unlike the world outside. A turbulent storm threatening to rip apart even the foundation of the earth. It all came down to one former student, as before it had come from one former friend, the problems of Britain and the larger wizarding world coming down to Albus's own mistakes and missteps. Of mishandlings and misunderstandings.

Voldemort.

It was a powerful name, it invoked fear and despair. He had weaponized it, turning the name into a symbol of fear. A name that men were afraid to speak for there was a chance that it would invoke the presence of the thing. And Voldemort was a thing, formed of his former student Tom Riddle, twisted by rituals meant to invoke power not meant for this world, making pacts with infernal beast bending them to his will. He had become a nexus of darkness. Eroding himself to become a place where the shadow plane interacted with the material, as well as a gate where the Abyss touched the world through the will of the shadow. He was beyond saving, at this point only a leach sucking the energy of the world away, or a rat spreading its terrible disease.

The wind howled, the sea buckled, the man was breaking.

As if the magic he controlled was not terrible enough, he had an even more powerful magic at his disposal; pure, unbridled charisma, and a blazing intellect. As a boy he had noticed the inherent distrust of those of non-magical birth, questioning how they had come to be. He had found the answers, understood them and believed them, but understood that the question itself could be weaponized.

So, he did.

It had begun early, targeting his fellow students, whispering to them, telling sweet lies. By picking the right people, future journalist, politicians, influencers, and duelist he was able to influence the whole of Great Britain. The years brought about a world of distrust for their fellow wizard for reasons outside their influence, but unlike Albus's former friend, Tom believed none of his propaganda. He only cared for the weapon that it provided.

His movement to power was just as calculated.

Albus remembered his first day upon the Wizengamot, an appointment that felt unfitting for him. He was only a teacher, he had studied how to run the world, but it was a past he hoped to escape, its memory brought with it a shattered heart, a shattered dream, and a shattered family. As he sat, he could see the unrest, the unease which some members held for ideas which seamed basic.

Albus took up his wand in the present, summoning forth a saltshaker, dumping its contents on the desk, slowly pulling the salt with his magic and shaping it, again losing himself in thought.

Over the years the people became more and more fanatical, more and more uneased, pushed further and further. They moved from unease to downright hostile. Good people started becoming more uncommon, either converting or vanishing. Then the horrible day in 1970 happened. September the first, as Hogwarts began, Albus, who was beginning his fifth year of Headmastering the most prestigious school in the world forced from his love of Transfiguration, received a special edition of The Daily Prophet was delivered.

It had depicted a horrible thing, a vial thing, 17 men and women of nonmagical origin were dropped from the ceiling of the Ministry of Magic. Included was the Minister herself Millicent Bagnold. Floating in the atrium with the bodies was a green skull with a snake slithering out of it, the dark mark. It was the beginning of a horrible civil war. The military was cut following the peace after the previous war, as standing militaries were an uncommon thing in the wizarding world. The Aurors were weakened by informants, ineptitude, and outright betrayal. Albus seeing the failing of the world around him organized a paramilitary group under his command, to counteract the vial men on the other side.

It was an organization of friends, former comrades of his previous campaign, as well as like-minded individuals. Years later Albus looked back upon himself, wondering what separated him from the opposing headpiece of the movement. Both moved people for the best decision, both men had killed, both men had made commands with the knowledge the person doing said command would end up dead as a result.

Lighting flashed.

In the present his circle was completed, moving in a block of wood and a bit of plant he powered it, using his will as well as the instructions of his circle to shape and change the thing into a lit pipe, ready to relieve stress. It had only been three hours since the somber Halloween feast had been held. Breathing in and out slowly, letting the magical weed fill his lungs, bringing with it relaxation, he went back to his remembering. Outside nature relentlessly assaulted the castle, deep rounds of thunder shaking the very foundations.

The introduction of his group had turned the war, its organization and goals being clear and defined with a genius veteran as a director being enough to make the 'Death Eater's' begin to know failure and defeat. Until HE took the field for the first time. In the town of York Albus's Order of the Phoenix, named for his companion Fawkes, had captured Rodolphus Lestrange. He was a man who specialized in necromancy, turning the dead into monsters in only minutes, and one of the suspected generals of the opposition, if not the leader.

Then he appeared. He had walked up to the group which consisted of Dominic Burke, an Auror who had countless men behind bars because of his actions, Sofia Armstrong, a woman who had defeated a general of his former friend, and Skyler Fuentes, one of the brightest charms minds that Albus had ever met, just three years out of school and already he was petitioning to have her be the heir apparent to the charms position.

The man walked up to the group, his skin wraith-like, his eyes like the burning inferno of a Volcano. He split the neck of Dominic without a word, followed by rotting Sofia to dust in seconds, but Skyler was the worst. He toyed with her, in the duel that followed he removed a finger of her non-wanded hand one at a time, then sent a curse that turned her intestines into snakes. It was then that Albus arrived, all too late. Despite revering the magic upon her, he still held her in his arms until death took over her. She asked him to pull the memory of the monster from her mind and he did. Despite the differences, there was no doubt it was his former student.

The boy had always been on Albus's watch list, a talent would be undercutting it, he breezed through the curriculum, was popular, and did it all as an orphan. After graduation, Albus expected to see his name somewhere doing something great, but that day, calling role for his sixth-year class was the second to last time he had ever heard his name naturally. He had almost forgotten the boy after so many years, he had been to and won a war since teaching him. The only other time he had met the boy was for an interview for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he sadly had to give to someone else, as Tom didn't have the experience for the subject.

Albus wondered what day Tom Riddle died, for the inhuman which had slaughtered Albus's friends was not Tom, but instead Voldemort. Dumbledore wondered when he had begun crying.

The years passed, few wizards were sent by the ICW to help against the dark magic user, no matter how threatening Voldemort was, with the warlord Bahman Tavakoli campaigning, pushing borders, killing people outside his own, pulling a host of demons to his aid through the mass sacrifice of innocents. Compared to Bahman Tavakoli Voldemort was a small scale villain when looking internationally. What was the fate of a single country when compared to the world?

The world flashed, the Black Lake moving with force, its waves growing ever taller slapping against the stone of Hogwarts, pushing against it. The surface was rougher than a dragon's back, and more temperamental as well. It was as if the Kraken itself was awakening beneath the waves, harking forth an apocalypse upon its people.

Then everything changed on a single day. A day that gave Dumbledore hope. Sadly, it also filled him with dread. The year before Lucy Loveryk, his former divination professor, decided to retire. This brought him to his position of a job interview with a young woman. She was petite with curly hair, large round glasses upon her face. She was schooled at Ridgeland but had a passion for teaching, as well as a gift for many branches of divination. Then in the middle of the meal the two were sharing, which masqueraded as an interview, she stiffened, her eyes rolling in her head, her magic flaring out around her. She opened her mouth and words spewed out, despite her mouth not moving to form them.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The rush of magic reminded him of a previous time in his life. When he was a child wondering Knockturn Alley with his dear friend, stopping within a shop brought forth an unassuming witch, but she two held forth a terrible power. She two had spoken with an unmoving mouth.

The form once combined will be broken…

The brothers will be split, kin blood spilt, and brothers split again…

The ambitions will fail, and be succeeded…

The artifact collected betraying and loyal…

The host lost without a head, brothers broken, tarnished again…

Years later that woman would be sacrificed for an evil man to locate an object that should have never been found, an object that was betraying yet loyal, an object that could win a war but inevitably lost it.

Knowing the danger, the woman was in he hired her on the spot, less for his need and more for her protection, the blood of a true prophet was a powerful thing, and a dangerous thing.

Lightning flashed, rain fell, the smoke of his pipe dwindled. Fawkes slept upon his perch, ever there, loyal to him. A friend who understood the poor man better than anyone, understanding the sleepless weeks, powered only by his pure need to save as much as he could. To redeem himself for past mistakes.

It was only days later when a former student had approached Albus. He was also a brilliant student, newly graduated as of two years ago, his mind was untouchable when it came to potions, becoming the youngest master of the art in Britain in recorded history. He stood in front of Albus in tears, regret in his eyes. He explained how he was a follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort, how by happenstance he had overheard the prophecy. How ecstatic he was at the information. Despite the fact he was caught and did not overhear the entire prophecy he had heard a part, the first two lines. He knew his master would be pleased by the information, though he never expected the Dark Lord to take the word born to be the literal birth of a child. He planned to kill any child born at the end of July to any opponent.

Severus, the man in front of him, had an old friend. His first love, a red-haired beauty named Lily who was expecting. The witch was a known member of the order, she and her husband had dueled against the monster and survived three times despite being recent graduates. Severus pleaded for her life, promising anything, no matter the cost she needed to be safe.

A tactic such as this was directly up Voldemort's alley, reaching out with his mind he touched Severus's own. Feeling only remorse and fear until the mind became a void Albus decided to trust Severus.

As it turned out this was the correct move. Of his direct allies, five sets of them had a timetable birth for the end of July. Two passed the date, but three did not. Erik Robertson and his pregnant wife Anna were murdered in transit to the hospital on the 29th. Frank and Alice Longbottom gave birth to a healthy boy on the 30th while hiding under a Fidelis charm. The following day Harry was born to James and Lily Potter also under the Fidelis. The boy would be a year and three months today for at least another hour.

His musing was cut short as a brilliant doe entered his room, a being of positive energy, fueled by love. Outside the monsoon had ended, the wind bringing with it the only reminder to what was. Through the magical construct, a voice rang, it was the voice of Severus.

"Dumbledore, she is dead. Lily is dead. The house is destroyed but she is dead." He was hysterical, his words interlaced with sobs. How he could cast such a positive spell while in such a sad state spoke to his capability as a wizard. All the same, Albus felt his heart give out a little more. Many a young life lost, spilt, a talent gone from the world. If Lily was dead the same could most likely be said for James, and the baby Harry. The poor boy was never given a chance. A puddle was beginning below the aged man, aged beyond his years by the unrest and hardship of his life. "But Dumbledore, the Dark Lord is not here, and the boy, he lives." Albus sat up. Confused, the boy lived, how, how was he alive, why would Voldemort leave him alive. Severus said the Dark Lord was gone, was he defeated, was the prophecy completed already? How?

"Fawkes, to Hagrid."

The bird awoke and, without hesitation, latched onto Albus, transferring them both to the hut of his most trusted friend. He quickly made way to the door knocking violently.

"C'min, C'min." The ground beneath Albus shook slightly as the door opened revealing the kind face of Hagrid, the gentle giant. "Oh, headmaster, err, what can I help you with at this hour?"

"Hagrid, I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything Albus." The kind man replied.

"This is a portkey to the house of the Potters, something happened there. I need you to go there and guard the child, Harry. His house was attacked by Voldemort and the child is the lone survivor." He knew this due to the message being from Severus and not James, for James would have killed the former death eater the moment he was on the premises.

"But Albus, I cannot portkey well, as you know." The man of giant's blood spoke. His natural repulsion from magic did cause this effect, usually. However, not all Portkeys were made by Albus.

Albus gave him a warm smile, with a hint of pride, "I think you will find this one to carry you to your destination, even within the grounds of this school. The word is Family." Speaking the word as the old man had requested had Albus now with only Fawkes. "To Minerva and Poppy please." He spoke fishing out paper and scribbling quick messages on them. Walking back to the castle had him meeting the two witches, highly specialized in their fields, in the Entrance Hall.

"Albus, what is this about the Potters, and Voldemort being gone?" His first staff hire asked him.

"Just as I said, it seems that Harry is alive and Voldemort is gone, Poppy, I will be bringing the child here for you to look over, Minerva I need you to find a home for the boy, for I fear that he no longer has his." His eyes had long been wet, he doubted they looked anything but at the current time.

Assigning the task as he had, thankful that it was a Friday and that he did not have to force classes tomorrow, he took off to his old home. A place full of memories, in retrospect the ones he despised the most at the moment were the ones he held the dearest. Sitting in a room with only him and Ariana, her slowly discovering the wonders of knitting, Albus reading. Her innocent voice declaring the socks in her hand was meant for her favorite big brother Alby. The one who keeps her safe and warm. His mother kissing his head and taking away his book, reading The Tales of Beetle and Bard for him, allowing him to sleep. His father playing with the boy on one of his few brakes from work, dropping nuggets about the wonders of magic. Those were the memories he remembered fondly, hating his younger self for the boredom, the rebellion, and the resentment he had felt originally.

His apparition had him in front of his property, a small house of little importance. Walking the street surrounded by his past mistakes, his failed ambitions, and his destroyed family, he walked to the house which held the Potters. It stood, the second-floor smoldering with a large hole, the fact that he could see the house had him angered.

They had entrusted Sirius Black to hold the secret of their home, by having such a weakness in the house let the protections on it to be second to none. The coward had sold them out or maybe had been against them the whole time. The Blacks had always been a dark family, perhaps they had set his entire childhood up for this moment, they were a canny group and wouldn't put such a deception past them. Dumbledore should have been their secret keeper, just another mistake in the sea of his life. At the door of the house stood Hagrid next to a motorbike, in his hands a child, quiet despite the upheaval of his life. Albus walked up to the pair, seeing the tears upon Hagrid's face.

"James and Lily, dead sir, they are dead." The man sobbed. Albus merely reached out grasping up and the shoulder of the man.

"But this child lives, may I see him." Hagrid slowly and gingerly did so. The boy continued his sleep. His brown hair split in the front revealing an angry-looking sowilo rune. Pulling a bit of sage out of his robe he lit it with his wand, twirling it he muttered a Chinese Proverb, in Chinese 'Look for a thing until you find it and you'll not lose your labor'. The spell took hold pulling the burning sage into the spell flooding Albus's mind with truth. A spell of death had hit here, Avada Kedavra, the wand motion was in the same vein as the rune on the head of the boy.

The spell was one of the closest things the world had seen to be true evil. It was a spell that required the user to be calm, in a clear mind. The spell only worked on the person of question, it only worked on a single target. The user could not move besides the spell and had to have no feeling for the person of target other than loathing. It was taxing and hard on the body as well, leaving most people who cast it in an undead state, unable to cast magic ever again.

The use of this spell was a specialty of Voldemort, he was one of the few wizards who had ever weaponized the spell to such a degree. Albus had seen the beast cast the spell three times in one combat, the mark of that bolt always appearing to signify the loss of life. The wizard's aim with the spell was always true. The fact that he could cast the spell in three seconds was even scarier.

The spell was always fatal when it hit and the mark appears the very soul of the target is driven from its body, leaving behind an empty shell. The pain that is assumed to be attributed to the curse is unimaginable, for the fraction of time the rune is inscribed the soul is taken piece by piece out of the body. This separation is a pain that surpasses the use of the torcher curse even. Or so Herpo the Fool says in his writings, no man since has been evil enough to try to test the man's theories, not even Voldemort.

There was something more to the scar on the boy's head, a leech. It seemed that Voldemort had detached part of his soul and somehow anchored it in Harry. Albus knew of no way to remove a piece of soul from someone other than phylacteries and Horcruxes. One which removed the whole soul and the other which split it indiscriminately, he would have to look into a way to modify the evil ritual of the Horcrux if he ever wished for Harry to be at peace, for having a gate to the Abyss, a gate formed of shadow leaching on the source of a person, must not be good for someone. Already Dumbledore could feel the shift in the boy's magic, what used to be full of positive and fey influence had already begun to transform into something more sinister.

The final piece of the scar with another odd magic, a feminine piece. It was not unlike a shield, though specialized. It seemed to limit the exposure of the soul piece, not allowing the more experienced soul to overtake the whole of the soul, merely letting a soft bleed through.

Albus felt his trance end, wiping a bit of blood from his nose, the harsh magic only being usable due to the magic nature of Halloween. Hagrid stood with worry but Albus was only focused on Harry, what a special boy. "Please take him to Hogwarts Hagrid, to Poppy, with haste." Letting the two go he entered the house. The entry room held many signs of transfiguration, the cause of them was located on the floor, his wand in hand and eyes closed, most likely by Hagrid. He looked so young, his hair was free, almost still dancing. The sword in his chest most likely killed him instantly, though the house showed signs of quite the fight, James truly was an amazing wizard. Sadly, he was severely hampered, he was most likely defending his wife and could not use the full scope of his transfiguration abilities due to the small room. The sword was most likely of his make, modeled after the fabled sword of Gryffindor, Voldemort most likely saw it as an ironic way to finish off a rival to his cause, James probably wouldn't have rathered a different way. Looking around the room he saw another wand, this one was most likely Lily's, she had died without being able to defend herself it seemed.

Walking to the second floor he moved to the open door, to the nursery. Stepping over a pile of robes seeping with dark magic he approached Lily Potter. The magic in the air reminding him of the magic within Harry, it seemed that Lily still was able to save her boy, even without a wand. The look of peace upon her face was something strange given the rune etched into her skin. As if she was the triumphant one. The room around them was destroyed, this included a book. The book while destroyed left an echo of what it was, a magic that involved death, but brought about positive energy from sacrifice, the positive and negative planes working together to pull forth protection. Voldemort, the ever-confident, must have missed the ritual circle made in blood on the floor, sadly the shape and text of the circle were also destroyed.

Pulling forth another shaker of salt Albus began to circle, then he painted with it, the shapes he formed telling magic what to do. Fueling the circle brought forth the shape into a new form, taking the salt and turning it into fine sand. Using a specialized charm, he pulled the sand into a bottle. He could already feel his magic begin to struggle against him. The use of powerful time magic, like he was about to perform, would be his last spell of the day. He began to work his wand, twirling the air around them, guiding the fine sand. He voiced out in ancient Akkadian, a Babylonian dialect.

Sands of time move back time

Pull forth memory, pull forth time

Remember the world for how it was and how it is

Reveal the death, show me death

Sands of time move back time

It was a miracle that this even happened on Halloween. The spells of death only worked on this day and the fifth of May. The shadows then showed Albus felt the grip of shadows on his heart, the magic of the shadow plane never doing well to his command. He coughed up blood and watched as small wrinkles appeared upon his hand. He saw the shadow of Lily Potter pleading, standing in front of the crib of Harry. Only she and the Voldemort showed. Albus knew it was Voldemort as the feather of Fawkes showed through the shadow wand, its connection to Albus allowing it to be shown. Then the spell was cast, and Lily's shadow left, her spirit leaving thus not being able to imprint on the world of shadows. Voldemort then stood in front of the boy, seeming to talk to him. Then he cast the spell, it hit the boy. The shadow faded and then returned, as if the boy had died but then came back, Albus watched as a shimmer from the contact point hurled the magic back striking the Voldemort. The shadow of Voldemort broke, seeming into three parts. One disappeared, one fled the room through the hole in the wall, the final smallest piece attached to the magical hole in the head of the child.

Voldemort was defeated, for now. At the hands of a child, who had died but wasn't dead. With the power of his mother. The world needed to know, with the head gone surely the snake would follow. He sat down, penning a summary of what happened to the current minister of magic, Nobby Leach, who was reappointed to the office after the former minister's demise. He quickly grabbed a vial of Lily's blood, whatever she had done was powered by her, maybe he could modify it slightly.

"Fawkes, as much as I hate this could you bring me to my chambers, I think that I can do no more tonight."

He was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

The next morning saw his first stop at Poppy's medical wing. "How is the child."

He is fine and healthy, all except for that leach on his head. Albus, that… thing, it is so allusive and hard to detect that I could barely find it. I don't see it taking over any time soon and other then the additional energy he will need since he will waste quite a bit on feeding the magic that combats against it." She looked at the boy with pity. Whether for the loss of his parents in his early life or the horrible thing he carried within him Albus didn't know.

"Thank you, Poppy, for taking care of him for me, why don't you get some rest." He said, grabbing the boy who had still yet to speak.

"It is no problem, he is such a quiet child, and so very sweet. He looks like James you know. I saw that boy enough to know that." She said, a sad smile appearing on her face.

"Yes, he does, though he has his mother's eyes."

The pair left allowing the nurse to get some well-needed rest. Albus, upon reaching his office, altered a chair into a cradle. He felt the strain as he did, the burning of his pathways, he needed to rest his magic. The boy let out a giggle watching the magic. "Pa." He yelled out. Albus choked, realizing that the transfiguration master that was James would most likely do these things to entertain the child. New tears appeared to replace the old ones, Harry staring at Albus with the innocent eyes the entire time, confused about where his father was, wondering when he would be back. The Daily Prophet chose that time to arrive.

The paper declared Harry a hero, calling him 'the-boy-who-lived', saying he single-handedly won the war. Flipping through he saw how the Aurors conducted many raids, catching the Death Eaters at the sight of their meeting place, confused as to why their lord never returned most didn't even fight. Few did however escape. After partaking in the meal, having a child solution brought for the boy, Minerva returned to his office.

"His closest relatives are Petunia and Vernon Dursley, they currently reside at Number 4 Privet Drive. They are muggles. If we instead look for his closest magical relative it is Sirius Black, who is now wanted I believe, followed by the wanted Bellatrix Lestrange, and finally Narcissa Malfoy. Of these, he would most likely go to Malfoy."

"What about Andromeda?"

"She was disinherited remember since she is no longer a Black, she refuses all rights of being a Black." She reminded him. That poor child.

"Well, then I guess I will start to write Petunia, we will bring him tonight, make sure you grab his paperwork from the house. Also, I forgot to bring with me their bodies, be sure that Poppy gets them." She looked disappointed in him; he shared her feelings.

He quickly penned the letter as soon as Minerva left.

Dear Petunia,

This is the second letter that I have ever written to you. For the second time, I wish it were under better circumstances.

As you most likely know, our world was at war, a villain sought to rid the world of people like your sister. He is now gone, defeated, by a young boy.

That young boy is named Harry Potter and he is your nephew. He is a quiet boy with eyes that drip with intrigue. It was your sister's magic, and love for her son that allowed him to live and win. Sadly, she did not. Both she and her husband have passed on, leaving this boy with no home.

As you are his closest relative the responsibility for his life falls to you.

Here are some important things to note when raising a magical child, as well as some special things about Harry in particular.

He will at some point display magic, no matter what it does not punish him for it, harming a child after he uses magic can leave memories which then later harm the magic use

If he does magic in public it is no worry, a part of an ancient spell is how magic that does not come from a wand is ignored by people who do not know magic exists

Socializing is key for Harry, as for when he enters the wizarding world, he will be quite famous, he would do well to be forced into public situations and public speaking, maybe have him join a choir

He will need more food than the average child, this is due to a strain on his magic

You can tell him about magic whenever you wish if you ever want you can post me and I will send you books which you can read to him so that entering the world is not so much a culture shock

All and all, care for him, please.

I am sorry for your loss.

Albus Dumbledore

After sealing the letter, he spent the rest of the day going between entertaining Harry and concocting a new ward for the home, based on the sacrificial nature of Lily's blood. When night had arrived, he gave the boy again to Hagrid, entrusting him to bring him to his new home. Then Dumbledore and Fawkes traveled to the boy's future home. The house was dark, as dark as the world around them, streetlamps decorating the street. Walking up to the door he worked his new creation, painting with his former student's blood made him weak, as weak as working with the shadows always did, but from it he pulled out the positive, the protective nature of his mothers work, allowing it to spread over the neighborhood and protect him from any magic that seeks to harm him while there. After completing the small ritual Albus tumbled over, into the waiting arms of Minerva.

"You old fool. What are you doing?" She admonished him.

"Just setting up some protections."

"You know Albus, I'm not sure we should leave the boy here. The muggles here seem so, ordinary, I don't know how they will feel having an Accio cast into their lives."

"Minerva, the boy has nowhere else to go. All paths lead to his death except for this one."

"You are right Albus, It's only…"

"I know, they were two of my favorites as well."

The pair sat in silence until the sound of a motorcycle entered. Hagrid had finally arrived. Taking the child from him Albus sat him in a basket, crafted from alchemy just that day. Inside he slipped the letter as well as the boy's papers.

Setting him on the front step he knocked and started walking away, seeing lights start from inside the house.

"Good luck Harry Potter." He kissed the boy's brow and with a call of Fawkes was back in his office. From his drawer, he pulled out a bottle of firewiskey and three glasses. Pouring all three to the brim. "To the end of the war, thank you for your sacrifice, Lily." He nodded to one glass, "And James." He took to the other. His entire Saturday night was spent in his room crying. Drinking cup after cup, filling himself with every regret, remembering every face, every name, every friend who had gotten him to this place.

Today was a good day, for it was the start of peace.


	2. Chapter 1: The Hermit

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

Three major arcana cards, a new experience for the small, ten-year-old boy in the cupboard. Such an event was something new, exciting even. Large positive emotions were hard to come by at Privet Drive, usually only in the fantastic stories of neighborhood gossip that his Aunt, Petunia, recounted at the dinner table to his Uncle, Vernon, and cousin, Dudley. Before this particular full moon, he had never pulled more than a single major arcana card in any of the draws he had done over the past three years. The first card he drew, the Hermit, symbolizes his past, and his current life with the Dursleys. The card, marked with a IX, was a man facing west carrying a lamp and staff in his right and left hand, respectively. The man was cloaked in grey, with a flowing white beard, forever alone in a barren world: a perfect symbol for Harry. The contemplation of the card brought him back to reality, back to the Dursleys. They were always the Dursleys, never his family, just as he was only the boy living under the stairs, never their nephew. The lack of relationship extended to his referral of them, his 'Uncle' forbade the use of familial prefixes, and so they became Vernon and Petunia, nothing tying them to the raven-haired Harry Potter. He had learned the hard to never display the slightest notion that he shared anything other than a roof with his guardians. The Hermit was often his present, or future, or past: the only constant in Harry's life, other than the chores and travail he would inevitably face day after day. Sitting in the past alone would not be too surprising, but in conjunction with the card symbolizing his present, The Sun, it brought a speck hope thought to be long gone. It promised a life with more than just tolerance, but love and affection the two cards were a hint of a new beginning.

The Sun watched him, staring him down despite its apparent lack of sentience. It was an indifferent face eyeing Harry, pasted on a glowing wall of sunflowers, and the number XIX. In the foreground was a nude child, crowned in more sunflowers and riding a pure white horse, smiling at the holder. The Sun was meant as a beacon of warmth, comfort, hope, not unlike the star it portrayed. Staring at the star outside that shared its likeness reminded Harry of the day it all began when he had flipped this very card for the first time. His first-ever friend, hanging above him, preluding such wonderful occurrences. Shortly after turning the card the first time, Harry was told that the Dursleys were to be heading to a vacation in Germany and that he was to remain alone at Privet Drive. It was the first time the hunger pains stayed away for longer than a few days, the first time he didn't feel like a stranger in someone else's home. And so, The Sun became the one card in his collection that he had consistently brought him joy. However, the card carried with it a warning, a warning to restrain yourself and not overindulge. Harry learnt this the hard way, spending much of that very week throwing up the food he had gorged on, unused to being able to eat whatever. It was a mystery to Harry what The Sun would bring, another vacation, or something else entirely?

The final card was the most offensive of the three. The Wheel of Fortune, X. The card was of the heavens, depicting angels reading on their bed of clouds. In the very center, there was a large wheel holding up a blue sphinx wielding equally blue swords. Counterclockwise portrayed a snake chasing a devil into the three o'clock position. The only certainty the card brought, was that the future is uncertain; what a joke. In all of the tarot deck, The Wheel of Fortune took the cake as the most useless fitting card, unable to give any clues or speculation over what's to come.

The night of the full moon slowly ended, and as Harry drifted off into sleep dreaming not of the moon shining above him, but of the radiant sun smiling down at him.

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

As Harry moved into a deeper slumber, he dreamed of the foundation of his current obsession, precisely three years and six months ago. It began on a day like any other, running home from school, but not out of exercise or any love of running. Instead, Dudley and some of his rougher classmates thought it was a perfect day for their favorite sport, Harry Hunting. Stumbling into various locals, running around trees, and darting through alleyways, Harry attempted to evade the gang after him. He slid inside a small shop that hadn't been there before, in a building he did not recognize. The unfamiliarity set Harry's skin was sitting on edge, the air felt humid to his skin, thick and heavy all around him. It felt much like how he expected walking through a tesla coil would feel, the static dancing through the air, reminding of its uncontrollable and lethal nature. Staying away, but only just, the atmosphere did nothing to calm Harry's nerves.

The seconds filtered away, or was it minutes? Perhaps days? Time seemed to lose all meaning as Harry stood in front of the door, rooted to the spot. Mixed in with the wild air, a feeling of power and hope jumped around. Peace and Serenity juxtaposed by the animalistic feeling the air had taken inside the store. Despite this strange atmosphere, or perhaps because of it, Harry felt no urge to run, content in the feeling it gave off. This feeling he had only felt secondhand, it was one that Dudley often displayed when hugging Petunia; was it love? Suddenly, the peace was gone, and the sound of Dudley and his friends reemerged. Harry turned to run further into the shop but instead found himself staring out of one of the windows, safe inside, while the group of boys ran past his hiding spot. Letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, Harry wished for the feeling to return. He closed his eyes, hoping it wasn't imagined when a small cough startled him out of his musings

A man leaned up against a small shelf, staring at him curiously. Crystal blue eyes pinned Harry to the spot, looking far older than his appearance made him seem. Clothed in an unusual, yellow and black striped robe, buttoned down to his waist where it began to loosely drag. He appeared to be in his thirties, at the most. He was thinner than average, but not as thin as Harry was, and his blonde hair was long and tied behind his hair in a high ponytail. Stepping from the wall, he began to approach Harry, causing the young boy to start sweating, blustering as he began sprouting excuses for why he was there, and how he should go. "Sorry sir, I apologize for the inconvenience, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll go now," Harry said with a soft staccato, punctuating each word as if it were the end of a sentence. As Harry tried to turn the knob, he realized he couldn't grip the door handle, his hands were shaking too hard and lubricated with his own sweet. It was just as well, his feet remained firmly in place, unwilling to follow Harry's command to turn and leave.

"It's quite alright young man, my name is Adrian Farley," The man said in response, pushing his chest out, opening his arms to gesture around the room, a beaming smile upon his face, "and this is my shop, Lost, Luck, and Stuff." Harry's head began to move on a swivel, taking in the room and noticing how strange it was. To his left sat a bookshelf running to the back wall of the store, stocked end to end with books of various sizes. Small display tables were scattered around the room with seemingly no significance to their placement. Orbs, jewelry, paintbrushes, and knives cluttered the various tables somehow all fitting precariously on the minimal space. The whole place made him feel as if he was in a pawn shop, a very peculiar pawn shop. The man was being sincere, he wasn't intruding, he was welcome.

"Sorry, I have no money. I should go," Harry sputtered out again, the ingrained belief he wasn't welcome dominating against the welcoming presence he felt in the shop, years of training fighting against the sense of wonder and adventure. Too much had happened already, and different didn't mean good; he needed the safety of his cupboard. The man ignored his words and continued forward until he was soon looking down at Harry. When he got close enough, something clicked. The man radiated the same feeling as the shop. There was more than met the eye, it was as if the feeling had come from him all along.

Mr. Farley never lost his smile. Instead, he let out a small chuckle and said, "Now, there is nothing wrong with just looking. One doesn't always have to buy something, right?" The older man didn't pose a danger to him, yet, strangely enough, he didn't want Harry to leave. Thus, Harry decided to appease the man by looking around the strange store. It took him several minutes of walking to realize the complete lack of lights. Instead, every few meters were a set of candles, either on a table or attached to a wall. The whole store seemed darker than it should at four o'clock in the afternoon because of this. It seemed as if the objects were taking the light for themselves, something was not quite normal in the pawnshop. The walls of the room reminded  
Harry of pictures of old manor studies, the style didn't match what should be in Surrey. He could imagine an old lord walking through this room with a drink, parroozing over his various collectibles, each with a story attached to it: a far cry from the bland social events on Privet Drive.

Harry walked from table to table, not knowing what he was looking for, but content in running his hands over the various clutter. All the while Mr. Farley watched him with increasing interest, as if in anticipation of what was to come. Eventually, Harry encountered a small box. As his hand brushed over the beautiful brown container, he stopped; that feeling of power earlier had taken a new direction. Though having never seen a symphony, the Dursley's would hardly take him on any outing, he imagined it is how an orchestra director would feel. It was as he controlled the box, conducting what would happen, and in charge of every little piece that made up whatever was inside. The box was a slip seam, and Harry dutifully slid the contents into his palm. He gasped. In his hand, on top of a deck of others, was a beautifully decorated card. On it, a man stood on the edge of a cliff leaning forward as if the wind was holding him up. Next to him, a small white dog sat copying his motion. He was clad in an ornate tunic, with vines trailing over the fabric. In his hands, he carried a traveling stick over his shoulder, and a flower by his side, the sun warming his back. Harry looked down on The Fool.

Looking up, he saw Mr. Farley trying to mask disappointment, evidently not as impressed as Harry himself. Confused as to why he begrudgingly slipped the cards back into place and set them back down. Harry moved on with his search, reluctantly, feeling the loss of cards as the powerful feeling dissipated. Eventually, he came to the books. Running his finger from spine to spine, each book felt unique and powerful, as if the knowledge itself permeated through the books. After touching a specific book, unassuming as the rest, Harry felt a spark, not unlike that of the cards. However, this was different. The cards were subtle and all-encompassing, but this book was dangerous. Sinister. Whatever knowledge the tome carried did not feel of this world, yet still, Harry was drawn to it.

Like a child seeing fire for the first time, Harry reached out to touch where he had felt the spark. Fortunately, drawing it from the shelf left him unscathed. The book sat comfortably in his hand and was bound in brown leather. Harry felt the spine again, feeling little ridges running down. Turning to see the cover, Harry traced a white sigil design that was painted on. He fingered the encompassing circle, then he began to follow the lines from the right side to the top, then lower on the left. He continued, tracing a second a triangle from just above the center of the circle connecting left to right, then below the center, not touching the bottom.

"The gate of Yog-Sothoth."

Harry jumped up, the trance broke. He turned and tried to hide the book behind his back guiltily. The shop owner had lost his smile and was staring at Harry intently. Reaching forward, he held out the cards from before.

"Take these and that," Mr. Farley said, his head tilting at the book semi-hidden behind Harry's back. The mirth gone from his eyes, the shop owner looked far older than the thirty years Harry had assumed when he first arrived. "The book," Mr. Farley explained, his voice sharper than all of the knives in his store combined, "Nothing good will ever come of it, and you will be doing me a favor in taking it off my hands." He gestured to the cards he had handed Harry, "This is payment for your service. Now go." Hugging the book close to himself gripping the deck tight, Harry ran from the store. When he turned around after exiting, there was no store, only an empty lot.

The book, as he later found out, was written in three different languages: Greek, Egyptian Hieroglyphics, and one he was still trying to find. It was odd, the book was written with the languages mixing all over the place, chapter by chapter as one would assume. Harry had attempted to learn some Greek from the library in hopes of being able to read the book but to no avail. The progress on learning Egyptian Hieroglyphics was moving even slower, as scholars still don't even know the meanings of some themselves. Gating most of the translations in more important libraries than his local one. Leading the only resources available in the pictures of books, and most of it was self speculation. In the same way, Harry couldn't decipher the third language and had found no reference on 'The Gate of Yog-Sothoth', whatever that meant. The closest thing Harry found was Thoth, the god of knowledge in Egypt.

The cards, on the other hand, were easy to figure out. The Tarot cards Harry had been given were meant to assist in divining past, present, and future. He studied divination as much as he could in the library, reading various techniques. He had never put much stock into the more obscure sciences, given his upbringing, but felt he could trust this esoteric magic. It was as far as he was willing to go. Harry had made the mistake of taking one of the books home once, an occurrence he never desired to repeat. His uncle, upon finding a book on cleromancy, had punished him so severely he still walked with a slight limp in his left leg. Nevertheless, Harry had truly mastered card reading. The cards responded to him, worked with him as an extension of his hands and mind. The shaping and dealing, though never as powerful in the shop, was as close to the feeling he had felt standing outside the door. The feeling of power and control was like bringing chaos to heel and commanding it. The cards became his friends, in place of the lack of others willing to associate with him, many too scared to get on his cousins' bad side. Touching them, even when not in use, could calm or comfort Harry. No matter what he did, no matter what he was punished for, the cards always stood with him. They were not fickle, they were the only things Harry had ever had to stand by him.

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

His present was the sun, yet never had he felt more restricted. The card was hinting something would change, yet Harry was still in the small area under the stairs. Hardly somewhere that gives an impression of sunshine. It was the following morning and still, nothing came. Harry reached down to touch his book, letting its presence soothe him, bringing the distress he had been feeling down. Something was different though, the cards seemed as anxious as he felt, nervously thrumming in his hands. Harry shook the thought away, collecting his cards and placing them away, upset with himself for not doing it the night before. Reminding himself to not make it a habit, Harry involuntarily thought of what could've happened. If his uncle had seen them. He did not doubt that his uncle finding himself in such a state would lead not only physical pain but the destruction of his only friend: the cards Thankfully his guardians never came to the cupboard, not since he got his limp. Nevertheless, Harry remained wary.

Harry left his cupboard, going through his hygiene routine as quickly and quietly as possible. After getting dressed and precursory cleaning, the cooking began. As always, hearty strips of bacon, sausages, eggs sunny side up, and toast were prepared. While he cooks, Harry's stomach grumbles, a reminder that he hadn't eaten yesterday, and the smell of bacon is no substitute for the real thing. Harry prepares three plates with various combinations of the food and sets them on placemats. He goes to pour tea, white with plenty of sugar, flitting about to make sure everything looks perfect. Contemplating whether to grab the burned bacon stuck in the pan, Harry resigns himself to another day of going hungry. He quickly goes to the cupboard and shuts the door, grateful at least that he finished before anyone came down.

In the nick of time as well, Harry has only just closed the cupboard door before the stairs strain overhead. The smell of bacon was a wakeup call for the others, as the other inhabitants of Number Four make their appearance for the day. Coming down first, the reason behind the groaning stairs and falling plaster, is Vernon. Built like an elephant, and just as strong, something Harry knew firsthand, Vernon had played Rugby at university. While he was once a man of great strength, the years of a desk job and a hearty diet added extra thickness to a body that had once been pure muscle. His powerful figure was usually outlined in a tailored grey suit, his uniform as a regional Director at Grunnings. Combined with his pocket watch and handkerchief, Vernon looked an imposing figure to anyone, especially his nephew.

Though tall, Petunia looked petite next to Vernon. Slim and straight, she was the perfect counter to her husband. An athlete in university as well, a runner, she kept her shape by running through the neighborhood, useful as well to be kept up to date with all the local gossip. Petunia kept her head high, preferring to look down upon you, giving the impression of a rather long and sharp neck. Though rather angular and sharp, Petunia was pretty, her watery blue eyes and curly brown hair, softening much of her features. She dressed to compliment her figure, in flowing skirts and dresses that gave the impression of someone much nicer than she. However, she was just as powerful as her husband, working in the local government. She had originally worked before Dudley was born and was returning now that Dudley was older. Now that he was old enough to be left alone for a few hours, Petunia gladly took the opportunity to return to work. She truly cared for her neighborhood and county, willing to go above and beyond to make it the best it can be.

Harry listened from his cupboard. The content radiating from the kitchen could not have been more unlike the hungry ten-year-old in the dark cupboard. The ceiling rattled once more as Dudley came down to join them. Everything felt different when Dudley was around, he was the recipient of the love in the house. As if a switch was flipped, the content changed to happiness as Dudley made his way into the kitchen. His parents cheerfully greeted their son, his presence waking them up more than the tea ever could. His enthusiastic response could be heard to Harry, as he loudly recounted the dream he had had the night before. The three were close, it was unusual for the happy interaction to be disrupted.

Dudley was very much his father's son. He was big. Standing a full head taller than Harry, Dudley was the tallest boy in their grade. His large frame was strong, built for boxing. At school, he was popular, a rough hand on the schoolyard, and one of the many reasons Harry had no friends. Contrary to what one would think, however, he was not only brawn but also possessed a brain. Ranked top of their class, Dudley consistently scored well on tests, and, when he wasn't engaged in Harry Hunting, could often be seen doing any sort of schoolwork. He was a prodigy in math, having been sitting in on his father's work meetings since he could speak. Most of his drive for success came from the high expectations that his parents set for him. Having both pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, they expected only successes from Dudley, in everything. Their desire for greatness came from love, yes, but their expectations had become stifling, and underneath the calm facade was an underlying worry that he wouldn't measure up.

Unfortunately for Harry, he could not be compared favorably to his cousin. His grades were abysmal, and no amount of effort seemed to improve them. Mentally comparing him to Dudley wouldn't be fair, like apples and oranges, as the drive to succeed simply didn't exist in Harry. Physically, he wasn't the most attractive child either. Thinner than Petunia, Harry's slight build made him look to be eight years old instead of his ten. Where her slimness was that of a runner, Harry's body was due to malnutrition and cramped spaces growing up. His hair was not the straight sandy blond of Vernon and Dudley, nor was it the light curled brown of Petunia, but a mop of unruly black on his head.

The comparisons don't end at Privet Drive, with his broken glasses, crooked teeth, and ill-fitting clothes, Harry was at the receiving end of many jokes. With his appearance, it's unlikely he would have found solace with any other kids, even if Dudley didn't threaten anybody who spoke a kind word to him. Harry was the shortest student for two classes and about the weakest of three. He could have been athletically gifted regardless, but the limp given to him by Vernon ended that dream very quickly. The only redeemable quality about his appearance was his eyes. When people were there, they stopped and stared. They'd get captivated looking into what appeared to be a kaleidoscope of one color, glowing with a hidden depth and power that seemed almost tangible. Harry lived for those moments, convincing him to believe he had worth.

The sound of chairs scraping broke Harry from his thoughts. The family began to move to the sitting room, as they did every morning. The sounds of the telly turning on was his signal to begin his chores. Moving to the kitchen Harry began to clean what remained of breakfast, straining to hear over the sound of the sink as he did the dish, he could hear the peals of laughter over the latest show the Dursleys had begun. Listening to the chatter from the other room, Harry's heart yearned to be a part of it. Just like every other morning, Harry imagined himself there as well, imagining himself as one of the family, feeling Vernon and Petunia's proud smiles.

"The post. Boy! I need my paper," Vernon calls in a gruffer voice than he was speaking to Dudley. His delusions shattered as reality crashed. His place is not with them, it isn't with any family. Going into the entryway he collects the small pile, sorting the letters by the recipient and handing the newspaper to Vernon, Returning to the kitchen, Harry tries to tie his hunger over, wondering if it will be like normal: eating the crumbs left behind or going as far as to lick the egg yolk left on the plate. Fortunately, today was a feast, an entire slice of toast was left behind! His stomach satisfied; Harry prepares lunch with more vigor than usual. As he's making the sandwiches, Harry wonders if it was left behind intentionally, if perhaps they're coming around, if that's what The Sun card was about. After finishing lunch, he packs the mess away and begins on his next list of chores. His day passes as he weeds the garden, dusts the sitting room, tidies the garage, and bakes a shepherd's pie for dinner.

Harry becomes quickly fatigued as the burden of work steals his energy. He's about to grab some fruit to gain back some momentum just as Dudley arrives home. His cousin enters the kitchen, ignoring Harry and not knowing the punishment he had helped Harry avoid, to grab his own secret snack. As his brown eyes met Harry's green, Harry focused. The monotony of his tutoring played in Harry's mind, from Dudley's point of view. The kitchen comes back into view as Dudley looks away. After the small bit of food, Dudley runs upstairs to play on his new electronic, leaving Harry slightly disoriented from the abrupt break. Harry begins to bake, knowing that the arrival of Dudley is a prelude to the arrival of the two adults, and dinner will need to be prepared. He's very good at baking, and it had become the one thing outside of his cupboard and divination that he enjoyed at the Dursleys house. An escape that he could share with the rest of the house, unafraid of the consequences.

Petunia was the next to arrive home, turning on the telly, likely excited to see if her opinion had made it to the news. The oven beeped for the pie just as Vernon arrived home, the smell of potatoes wafting throughout the house. As the three of them began to eat, Harry continued cleaning the house, scrubbing the bathroom until it shone. If he was good, Harry would get any scraps left over that weren't packaged away to keep. After dinner and the subsequent cleaning, Harry retreated into his cupboard for the night. The two adults continue to exchange thoughts on politics and work over tea in the sitting room, going upstairs to sleep when the grandfather clock strikes nine. The entire time they talk, Harry listened from a room away, imagining once again that he's sitting there with them. Mentally interjecting with questions and answering imaginary ones, he's tempted to leave the cupboard and join them. As the two adults go upstairs, the plaster and spiders that rain down on him show him what they think of that idea. For the first time, Harry curses The Sun. The hope he had felt last night dissipates into the dark, much like how The Sun had left him, and Harry drifts off to sleep, aching for more.

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

The next morning, Harry glumly goes through the same thing again. However, following Vernon's call, "The post. Boy! I need my paper," something strange happens. The mail that Harry went to get is not addressed to any Dursley. Instead, staring up at him in flowing calligraphy are the words, Harry J. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs.

The Sun.

Edited 3/21/2020


	3. Chapter Two: The Sun I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. This story idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall, or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. Note I enjoy naming characters. If they speak, they will most likely have a name. That does not mean that they are a major player, or even that you need to remember it. Shoutout to my first beta ever in jinxwalnut25 for their wonderful support in helping this mess of thoughts that I have, but as of this chapter they have left my service. I need a beta please contact me if you have any interest.

The Sun.

Harry stood frozen; his eyes widened with disbelief. A letter for him, only him. Such an occurrence was unheard of in the Dursley house. Closing his eyes, Harry breathed to center himself, opening them again only to see that the swirling handwriting had stayed the same. Further blinks and several seconds of staring only had the same result; shimmering in the dim light of the foyer, the green ink proudly addressed itself to him. It was odd seeing his name staring back at him in an unfamiliar script, handwritten and personal, a stark contrast from the typed letters of his report cards. This envelope, addressed to him, was written in a flowing work of calligraphy that Harry had never encountered before; smooth and precise, ebbing and flowing, the writing was a river forming the shape Harry Potter. Harry remained in the same spot, his breathing smooth and calm despite the clenching of his stomach and shaking hands. This was his divinely predicted present; The Sun had finally made its appearance. A warmth crept through the drawn shades, a confirmation of his theory, a guiding light leading Harry to embark into a new future.

His breathing sped up slightly, as Harry attempted to make sense of the events surrounding him. The Sun contained a warning, yes, but also hope; was that enough to risk opening the letter? Should he share it with the Dursleys? No, absolutely not. Harry's leg began to give out, a reminder of the last time they had seen his interests, as well as how long he had been standing there. His mind made up; Harry sought to act normal. Pocketing the message in his baggy pants, the pockets easily concealing evidence of the paper, he brought the rest of the mail to Vernon and proceeded to the kitchen as nothing had happened. For once he was grateful at the lack of attention the Dursleys paid him; a single glance at the bounce in Harry's step would have given his entire facade away.

Harry continued his chores, certain that the clock was moving slower than ever before. Every little action incited a 5-minute check over on the single most important paper he had ever received; he nearly had a panic attack as he washed the dishes, paranoid whether it damaged the letter, or that the ink had smeared. Thousands of questions flitted through Harry's mind throughout the course of the day, all of them revolving around the letter, and all of them sending him into a cold sweat as he assumed the worst: Was the letter safe? Was it still in his pocket? Did the Dursleys know? Each time a voice was heard from the sitting room, Harry jumped a foot in the air, an excuse and an apology on his lips, but the Dursley's remained in the sitting room, and the letter remained unseen. He had taken to periodically placing his hands into his pockets, just to rub the sharp edges of the envelope. To an unknowing stranger, Harry acted much like a baby with undeveloped object permanence, checking its mother was still there. No matter how many times he checked, his stomach clenching and throat constricting, Harry remained constantly paranoid and on watch, slowly biding his time until he could safely open it.

After what felt like an eternity, but in actuality was only an hour, the Dursleys all parted for the day, leaving Harry alone. Ignoring his list of chores, he grabbed the letter knife, opening the envelope that had been twisting his stomach into knots in anticipation. Carefully severing the folded edge, he gently pulled out the folded thick parchment from inside. Not paper, parchment, a strange thing to write on nowadays. Opening the enclosed letter, he is met with more of the elegant script; however, this time the calligraphy is less advanced, a simpler print than the ostentatious writing on the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., CHF. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Moving on to the next paper, Harry reads through an unusual shopping list. With items including, but not limited to: A standard book of spells, dragonhide gloves, and a disclaimer over broomsticks. With a sinking heart, he realizes the implications. Harry was sent a letter regarding witchcraft and wizardry, a joke. Despite the sun still shining into the household, he shivers and struggles to hold back the tears brimming in his eyes. The hope that had been growing since the drawing of The Sun shattered. The harsh reality of his life wrapping its presence around him once more. What should have been a manifestation of change from Harry's life, was instead a cruel prank.

At least, it must be a joke, there's no way that this is not real. Magic does not exist, and there was no such thing as a "wizard", those were things from films and books, a way for Tolkien and Disney to make money. And a magic school? None of that was real, only a game one would play on the playground. Magic was something out of fantasy, a farce, to set good people to the devil and a life of sin. Harry's breath caught in his throat, the Dursleys. What if they found it? What if they saw him with this letter? What if they sent it as a trick, a trap? This trail of thoughts caused him to begin panting, his breathing accelerating as if a game of Harry Hunting had just finished. His shoulders collapsed on himself beginning to resemble a turtle, retreating within his shell. In an attempt to calm himself down Harry reasoned through the possibilities of the letter, slightly regaining his composure. Could this be a test, a path for Harry to take to get into their good graces? In case it was, he repeated for a second time, but aloud, reinforcing the idea within himself, "Magic isn't real." However, the response he got was not that of Vernon or Petunia, whom he expected, but came from himself instead. 'If magic isn't real, then what of your divinations?'

The inner realization brought back his sun, the warmth seeped back into his body, and the sliver of hope took hold once more. If his divination had predicted the coming of such a fantastical letter, why couldn't both be true? Once more, his mind raced for a solution for his current predicament. Following the speed of his mind, Harry ran to his cupboard. In another first experience in his life it was not out of fear or shame, but instead in a need of knowledge. Ripping the door, he frantically reached inside for his deck. Grasping the well-worn box, he slid them out, shuffling the cards within. He worked his way slowly into a trance, perched just outside the doorway under the stairs. Feeling the cards shift and mold in his hands he suddenly stopped, flipping over the top card. Staring him in the face was a card Harry had never pulled before: a man in white draped with a crimson stole. His face was stoic, standing proud in an illuminated garden. He stood behind a small table, holding a lit candle while above his head sat an infinity halo underneath the number I. The table held the four suits of the minor arcana, the cup, wand, pentacle, and sword, displaying that the man could choose all forms. The Magician.

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

It was as if the deck was speaking directly to Harry, giving him the most obvious confirmation he had ever been given by the cards. He had to accept it; he was a Wizard. This was no mere prank, this was no mere trick, the conversation with the deck had informed him this was the real deal. Now, Harry just needed a way to respond. He turned towards another form of divination, cleromancy. Cleromancy is a form of divination best for yes and no questions. Putting his deck away, he grabbed a small bag of 26 rocks, all black or white. Luckily it was a Wednesday, so the method could be trusted. He began by asking it the important unanswered questions,

"Should I tell the Dursleys about the letter?"

As he spoke, he transferred the rocks to a second sack. Harry focused intently on his question, shoving all his thoughts, insecurities, and physical matters away; he needed this answer. Letting his entire being be consumed by the one question, all properties of Harry's self disappeared, all that mattered was the question. His mind voided, he shook the bag thrice, asking aloud as he performed the ritual,

"Should I tell the Dursleys about the letter?"

The verbalized question echoed around his brain. It resonated deep inside him, bouncing off his bones and finding its way towards his very soul. Once more, he shook the bag and again questioned the world around him.

"Should I tell the Dursleys about the letter?"

Finally, reaching into the bag, Harry grasped a handful of rocks and deposited them on his cot, his eyes already assessing his draw: Five dark, three bright. "All that for a no," He mumbled, pondering what his next course of action should be. The text of the letter appeared in his mind's eye, 'We await your owl by no later than the 31 July.' He shot up, for that was today. Disregarding the connection to his birthday as well, he felt the room grow colder as he realized his chance to follow the path set by The Sun was slipping away. The school needed his response today, but the mail had come already, taking away his method of sending something back. He sat back down, confused, how would he get an owl?

Shaking his head, Harry attempted to take it one step at a time, starting with writing the letter needing to be sent. He stepped into the hall, creeping up the stairs to the threshold of Vernon's study. He took a deep breath, mentally encouraging himself to break one of the major rules that had been beaten into him, literally. "Well in for a penny in for a pound," he said aloud, and with that he stepped into the room, a prepared cringe ready as he remembered the last time he had done so. Shaking his head to remove that thought, he located the pen and paper, writing the neatest he had ever written, intently focusing on his task.

Dear Deputy Headmistress,

My name is Harry Potter and I received your Owl. I want to attend Hogwarts but have no equipment, and school starts next month. If you could send assistance, I would be very happy.

Yours sincerely,

Harry Potter.

Harry signed his name with a flourish, rereading his response a few times to ensure everything was perfect. Having confirmed that it was the best he could do, he folded and put the paper into a nearby envelope, licking the outside to seal it. Marking the cover with Hogwarts, aware it wasn't a comprehensive address, Harry slowly began to make his way to the front door, his heart thumping as if trailed by a marching band. Walking outside with the letter, he attempted to make his way to the postal box before he was approached by a beautiful owl. He was all white except for a brown heart around his face brown tips on his wings. The owl stretched out its leg expectantly, looking at Harry like he could read his mind. Harry took a moment, breathing slowly, to quell the panic he had felt when the bird had come out of nowhere. As soon as he twitched the letter slightly forward the owl snatched it, grasping onto the letter. The owl began beating his wings and taking off from his perch without a single look back, leaving Harry to stare at its retreat with a glazed look full of awe and a slight tremor.

Drained from the motion ordeal, Harry trudged inside to begin his neglected chores. The tasks, normally completed with an automatic efficiency, were long and arduous. It was almost as if his spirit and will had flown into the sky with the letter. He kept dropping cleaning supplies, creating extra work for himself, yet only picking up the dropped items with a half-hearted carelessness. Added to the game of pickup was a halfhearted promise it would happen again. A promise that never lasted long. To make matters worse, time passed slower than it had in the morning: taking hours to move once around the clock. After eons had passed, the door of the house finally opened, and Dudley barreled home. Looking at his cousin, Harry could tell that it had not been a good day for Dudley at school. Making eye contact Harry saw a flash of a girl, tall and pretty. Her actions reminded Harry that not all people saw Dudley the way he did. Others did not see him as though he were the epitome of perfection. On the contrary, classmates outside of his circle of friends would often make fun of Dudley, teasing him for his weight. They weren't subtle about it either, calling him elephant man or walrus. Today specifically was over a girl he had liked. Dudley's attempt at helping her in a class that she was struggling in did not reward him with a new friend, but another day of being called a know-it-all.

Having recovered from the snippet of Dudley's life, Harry wordlessly passed his cousin some chocolate cake he had baked for one of Petunia's social gatherings. Dudley, just as quietly, munched quietly on the dessert, his blue eyes, exactly like his mother, gathering water on their edges. The two sat in silence, content with the company the other provided. Dudley was the only one to show his cousin kindness and had once even offered to help him in maths. Unfortunately for both, Vernon found out rather quickly, ending the session before it could begin. Thus, Harry Hunting began, a half-hearted Dudley attempting to appease his parents. Harry watched as Dudley as he slowly ate the cake, empathizing with how hard it was to be Dudley; to have so many expectations forced upon you would drive anybody mad. He looked away from him and fiddled with the radio, hoping to tune into a comedy duo to cheer Dudley up. When the station picked up, it only took around twenty minutes before Dudley began smiling due to the antics of the hosts.

It was at that same time when the sound of the knocker interrupted the playing radio. Harry perked up at the sound, waiting for Dudley to hurry and open the door for what could be the next step in The Sun's journey. Dudley, however, did not share his cousin's excitement. He slowly stood up from his chair, taking time to brush off the crumbs before making his way to the door. Vernon's dislike of solicitors was well known to all in the neighborhood, so it was reasonable for Dudley to suspicious of anyone willing to face his dad's wrath. Opening the door cautiously, he greeted the visitor in a clear, calm voice learned from his father, "Hello, this is the Dursley household. I'm sorry, but my parents will not be around for the next couple more hours. Could I have you return at a later time, please?"

The voice that answered his greeting was female. It was rhythmic, soft and comforting, a reminder of the lullabies. She responded, "That's quite alright young lad, you wouldn't happen to be Mister Potter, would you?" Her question was sharp and accusatory, contradicting her sweet and gentle voice.

Harry, still seated in the kitchen, lit up as The Sun warmed him from the nearby windows. Someone was here for him, and the letter was no prank. Harry felt himself sit up straighter as a weight was lifted off, he would no longer be the Hermit, no, he was moving on. In fact, he would be the true first card, his confirmation; The Magician.

As if the woman was influencing him, Dudley's response came out gentler than it usually would, the ten-year-old replying, "No ma'am, I am Dudley, Dudley Dursley."

Her reply came softer still, her tone completely abandoning the bite there just a moment ago, forgiving the boy for some transgression both boys still in the dark about, "Well it is nice to meet you, young man. I am Professor Sprout, a teacher at the school that Mister Potter will be attending."

Dudley's responded apologetically, attempting to placate the authority figure in front of him, "I am sorry ma'am, but whatever he has done to get himself in trouble at Stonewall Secondary Comprehensive, I am sure it can be replaced." Harry had his heart sink. She wasn't here from Hogwarts; she was yet another teacher believing him to be the troublemaker and delinquent everyone else saw him all. Harry felt the weight settle itself back upon his shoulders pushing his whole body into a slump as he remembered the first instance that solidified everyone's perception. He had been walking home from school, attempting to ignore the teasing he faced for not knowing his family after a, particularly insensitive family tree project. Harry had been berated by the teacher in front of the class for having only his mother's side of the family, ignoring the fact that his parents had died as an infant. Hearing one too many jokes about a lack of a real home, Harry snapped and somehow broke a bike belonging to one of the name-callers.

He tried to defend himself against the backlash, explaining he hadn't even been near the bike when it broke, but Vernon was adamant Harry face the consequences. He wove the story to the dean, about how his parents were no good drunks, and left the boy on their doorstep, expecting them to feed and clothe the boy. Now, being the fine upstanding citizens they were, they treated him just like a son at first trying to make him a valuable member of society, but alas the bad genes were so strong, nothing could be done to help him. The Dean listened to the entire rant, but still found the grounds to expel Harry, starting the beginning of his 'delinquent career' To this day, he still didn't know how he had done it. But that one action led him to resign himself to a lifetime of misfortunes blamed on him, with schools only accepting him because while he may be a bit of a menace, he still deserves to be schooled. The only good that had transpired because of the ordeal had been a result of that project. The first mention of his mother, Lily Evans. While the connection to his mother was a treasure, it wasn't enough to stave the loneliness away. He often felt like a ghost on the world, alone and without help, unable to influence the events of it in any way.

Harry was brought back from his musing by the visitor's sharp reply, "No, I am not here from, what was it Stoneywall? I am from Hogwarts, a school for magical children such as Mister Potter." The sharp bite was back, but a small bit of concern had been mixed in.

Dudley gasped at her response, giving her a scathing accusation would have made Vernon proud, "That can't be true, magic isn't real. Dad says so. He says that anyone who thinks magic is real actually worships the devil."

The woman sighed, breathing disappointment and regret into one syllable before silence settled in throughout the house. After a small eternity and what Harry imagined to be a staring contest of epic proportions, she responded in an even tone, as though it were a well-rehearsed line she had spoken many times before, "Magic is real, as are witches and wizards. We live in a society separate from your own. You, Mr. Dursley, live with one such wizard." She then spoke a short incantation, in what sounded like the Latin spoken in church, causing Dudley to gasp and a thud to reverberate around the house. "See, that is magic. Normally a muggle like yourself would never be allowed to see it, but since Harry lives with you your circumstances are different. Now, could you please show me to Harry, we have much to discuss."

After a few minutes, Dudley entered the kitchen to find Harry doing a poor job of pretending to clean a single spot on the counter. A look of wonder was plastered on the young boy's face, giving his act away, and his grin stretched from ear to ear. Dudley mumbled to Harry that he needed to go to the sitting room, walking to the stairs mumbling about pigs. Harry brushed off his clothes, suddenly very conscious of how he looked. The stares and whispers of the children at school sprang to mind, and he hurriedly tried to fix his glasses and adjust his large clothes. There was nothing to be done now, and he hoped that there was some sort of magic to help with his appearance. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry feels the gentle caress of The Sun's warmth, and, inhaling a final time, enters the sitting room.

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

"Hello Professor Sprout, my name is Harry Potter," He sputters when he sees her, cursing himself for the rude greeting. In an attempt to make up for his mistake, he stretches out his hand in greeting, shooting his hand forward like it was shot from a bow. Unfazed, Professor Sprout firmly takes the offered hand and shakes it, revealing callused and hard hands. Her hands are the only part of her that oppose her soft voice, as their first meeting reveals a plump and motherly looking woman, with gentle visage. Comforted by her appearance, Harry inches slightly closer than the large gap he had initially left between them, breathing in the distinct smell of fertilizer and pollen, a familiar smell from his work in the garden. The kindly-looking woman seemed to be just shorter than Petunia, gazing at him with warm hazel eyes. They glimmer at the anticipation of meeting him, inciting whispers saying, 'the boy-who-lived' to crawl around his head.

"Please have a seat." He offered, gesturing to Petunia's chair while sitting on the couch. The epithet puts a furrow in Harry's brow, wondering what such a title could have to do with him and their meeting. The woman took the proffered chair, doing as asked while keeping her eyes on him. He felt a sense of unease creeping over his body, but it wasn't from himself. Something about Harry was making the house guest nervous, but Harry couldn't decipher the reason any further than its relation to 'the boy-who-lived'.

"Hello, Mister Potter. As I am sure you have heard, I am Professor Sprout from Hogwarts. Hogwarts received your acceptance letter and I was the lucky Professor to have read it first," She began triumphantly, warmly smiling at him with pride, her features lit up. Harry already liked her, appreciative of how she wore her emotions on her face and heart on her sleeve. She continued, "I would like to take you shopping today if that is alright. For your school supplies, I assume you got the supply list?"

"Yes ma'am, I would like that very much," He responded with a smile, radiant as the sun.

The Sun.

The pair shortly thereafter made their way outside. The duo content walking out into the warm afternoon air. Attempting to look around for the professor's automobile, Harry turned every which way. Seeing no car out of place he looked at Professor Sprout expectantly, she must've traveled by other, more magical, means. He voices his question with his expression tightening, afraid to offend her by asking. Fearing one misstep would end their trip before it could officially begin.

She surprises him, laughing heartily at the question before saying, "I forget the ignorance of the muggle-raised sometimes, and certainly didn't expect it from you, Mr. Potter. You see, there are many methods of travel in our world, with Floo, broomsticks, and apparition being the most popular. However, how I arrived here is not nearly as important as how we are getting to Diagon Alley." She pulls a piece of wood, around a foot long, out of her sleeve and sticks it out with purpose.

Immediately, the sound of squealing tires erupts from down the street, where it had been empty before. Much faster than the recommended speed limit, a purple triple-decker came speeding into view. Harry's mouth was on the floor, in disbelief by the sudden appearance of a bus coming into existence from nothing. It came closer, closing in on their position, showing no sign of slowing down and stopping. Then, just as the bus seemed like it would ignore them about to move past them, the large, multi-tonne vehicle comes to a full stop with a large crack and a puff of smoke. His first demonstration of magic, other than what he overheard from the kitchen, Harry's eyes shine and a lighthearted happiness bubbles in his chest. The large doors soon open to reveal a young woman reading from a tabloid, a peculiar issue proclaiming Most Eligible Bachelor Gilderoy Lockhart Back in Britain, Who He's With Will SHOCK You on the cover.

"Where to?" She asked, despondently, her brown eyes never leaving the magazine. Harry looks around taking note of his neighbor's making no reaction to the purple bus. A jogger across the street continues to run, not even a single glance at the vehicle that stands out next to the well-kept lawns of Privet Drive.

Wagging her finger slightly at the young woman, Professor Sprout sternly reprimands her, "Ms. Wilson, we have known each other for how long now? Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Startled, Ms. Wilson looks up from her magazine, doing a double-take when she sees Professor Sprout and breaking into a large, beautiful smile. Slipping the book away she gives the professor a large hug, closing her eyes tightly in the embrace.

"Professor, you know you can call me Julia," She chided back, still caught up in the hug. Harry shifts his weight back and forth, stumbling slightly on his left leg, not knowing what else to do during the reunion.

"Just like how you've stopped calling me Professor?" She rebuked in mirth. Though he couldn't see her face, Harry felt the affection in her voice as if it were tangible, sweet and warm like honey. Professor Sprout finally released Julia, keeping her hands clasped on her shoulders, looking the young woman up and down. Blushing at the attention, Julia stared down at her feet. Professor Sprout spoke softly, "Ms. Wilson, if I remember correctly, you were going to go into agriculture. I even gave a recommendation to Bovaline Farms. What are you doing on the Knight Bus?"

Julia blushed again, a deeper reaction than due to the initial scrutiny. Looking at her, Harry felt blood rush to his cheeks as well, the feeling of shame flooding into him from her. Underneath the surface, he felt tears begin to prickle his eyes, a feeling of loss mixed in.

"Well you see," She began, tapering off. Blinking hard, Julia continued, "I met this wizard from Yorks Public while working there, and we dated for a bit. He wasn't the type of man he said he was, so I broke things off." Her attempt at holding back the tears finally failed, dripping into the rest of her explanation, "It was messy; under normal circumstances working together would be a nightmare. Then, it turns out he was the president's nephew, and things escalated from there. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and I quit." Taking a moment to compose herself before continuing with her story, Julia wipes off her tears, and takes several deep breaths, looking composed and together in a surprisingly short amount of time. A wave of tears threatens to hit Harry, exposing the lie that her face is telling. "So, I got this job as an in-between while I look for other employment. Besides, I've always liked plants more than animals. Just last week I sent in my resume to Irish Enterprise, so hopefully, I will get an interview soon," She finishes her story with a false cheery tone, still internally distraught over admitting her failings to her old teacher.

Professor Sprout, who had remained quiet during the entire story, pulled Julia forward and initiated a second hug with her, this one deeper and even more heartfelt. As touching as the moment was, Harry had to fight the urge to turn away, feeling like an intruder on such a private moment. "You were very brave to do that my dear, and, if you need it, I can write another letter of recommendation. You may not believe it, but my word has a little bit of say." Professor Sprout said pulling away to look her in the eye. Julia laughed at the last sentence, a far cry from how she had been recounting her story.

Composing herself once more, she cleared her throat saying, "Well it was nice to see you again Professor." Looking down she saw Harry, her eyes widened slightly seeing a third member of their party, flushing again at the realization that he had heard the sob story. "Two to the Leaky Cauldron I'm guessing. Muggleborn?" She asked. At Professor Sprout's nod of confirmation, she pulled her wand out and spoke in another language, followed by, "Two for the Leaky Cauldron." A number flashed in bold blue, boldly proclaiming '17 knuts'

The Professor opened a pouch hanging on her hip, calling out the number before dropping the contents in a small bin as she entered the bus. "Come along Mister Pot- young man," She called, stopping herself from saying Harry's name. Tilting his head, he followed behind her. Did she dislike him already? It was as if for every new thing introduced, two more questions took its place. Quelling the thought, he entered the bus, moving to the seats on the side. Professor Sprout took her seat, and Harry copied her next to him. She began, "So Harry-may I call you Harry?" Though confused at being addressed so informally, especially when she still referred to Julia as 'Ms. Wilson'. Opening his mouth to ask, a glare of sunlight hit directly in his eye, warning him to stop his intended line of questioning. Listening to The Sun, he agreed. At Harry's nod, she continued, "Do you have any questions for me? I realize this may be a lot to take in."

"Actually, Professor Sprout, I was wondering, how will I buy everything today? I don't exactly have money, and I especially do not have any 'nuts'." Harry had been wondering this since he got his letter, as it made no mention of tuition fees, something uncommon for an obviously exclusive school.

The professor looked at him softly, asking, "Do you not have your key? If not, I'm sure they can get you a new one." Harry was confused, key? She continued before he could voice his confusion, "And our world uses a different system of money since we have near-autonomous economies to that of our non-magical brethren. Though we do follow some of their ways, just recently we switched our ratios of Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons. From 29 Knuts per Sickle and 17 Sickles per Galleon to 100 and 50 respectfully. Much easier to work with. Sometimes these muggles do have the right ideas." The last remark was uttered low, Harry could barely make out the words sitting next to her. She took a deep breath and turned to him, "Anything else?"

"Yes actually, are there tuition fees? Where is the school? Is it horribly out of the way, I would hate to have Vernon drive me every day," Harry rambled, already flinching at his punishment for what he was doing today, and beginning to shake at the thought of how angry Vernon would be if he had to rely on him for transportation every day.

The kind professor smiled at him, answering all his questions patiently, "The day you were born, James and Lily paid your tuition in full, and Hogwarts is a boarding school in Scotland, Harry." The rather stoic face Harry had been wearing all day broke after hearing her speak that one sentence. Another large smile, crooked teeth and all emerged and threatened to split his face in half. He had known that his mother's name was Lily, but this was the first he had heard of his father's, James. The first real connection he Harry had ever felt to his dad, he could imagine James holding him, protecting him, loving him, acting to him as Vernon acted towards Dudley. It clicked. His parents were magical like him. His parents went to the same school he would be going to, had possibly taken the knight bus before and sat in the same seat he sat in. His knowledge of his parents had grown more in one day than in the past ten years. It was truly magical.

He was about to ask more about his parents when Julia announced their arrival at, "The Ministry of Magic". As the bus came to a halt, the sun, peeking out behind a building, momentarily blinded into Harry. The Sun was warning him about the parent's topic, so instead, he decided to ask about the school itself.

"Will I have to do placement tests for my Maths and such?" He asked, silently hoping the answer was no, he didn't want to have to be outshone by more Dudley's.

"We do not teach Maths at Hogwarts," She responded, much to Harry's relief. "Instead, the classes you shall take first year should be Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, History, Astrology, Potions, Transportation, and Preservation against the Darker aspects of Magic," She continued, reciting the list like it were a common question. Again, Harry was confused, wondering why he had to go to his school if none of them were taught at Hogwarts. The last class seemed to be quite the mouthful. The class list just made Harry confused, what of everything he had learned until now. With a knowing smile, Professor Sprout answered his unasked question, "These classes incorporate aspects of Languages, Sciences, Maths, and English. Meaning that it was needed to go to school."

Before she could continue, Harry asked a clarifying question, "What is the presser… verses the Dark Stuff?" He looked down, flushing slightly for already forgetting the name of the class. Peeking up, Harry was met by a somber and mournful look instead of her usual smile.

"The teaching position seems to be cursed. The Headmaster believed that by changing the name of the course, the curse could be bypassed, but to no avail; the previous teacher of the class vanished," Professor Sprout explained quietly, her resolve failing on the last statement, a small waterfall of tears careening down her face. Like running into a brick wall, the realization that Harry had indirectly caused his professor's current state hit him in the face. The previous professor had likely been close friends with Professor Sprout and was likely dead.

"I am sorry Professor, for your-" his apology was cut off as Julia announced that they had arrived at 'The Ministry of Magic, Norwich Branch'. Slightly bewildered, Harry looked outside, noticing the classic older buildings of Norwich, a far cry from the Surrey suburbia he had left. The distance traveled between the two was far too great in too short a time for any regular type of transformation and was just concluding the presence of magic as the Professor wiped away the last of her tears.

"It is quite alright young man, not something you should be worrying about. Did you have any other questions?" She asked, looking much more collected than she had moments before. Remembering the last question, he had asked had hurt the sweet woman helping him, he debated whether or not he should continue his line of questioning. After a few moments of internally going back and forth, a word that Julie had mentioned to Professor Sprout popped into his mind, a 'muggleborn.'

"One more, I think, what is a muggleborn?" He found himself asking, already done with the question before he had decided to voice it. Harry cursed his lack of self-control, his slip-ups usually rare occurrences.

Professor Sprout looked at him with a furrowed brow, her tone coming out slightly uncertain as to why she had to explain it, "Well, a muggleborn is someone like your mother: a wizard or witch who has no magical parents" The implications struck Harry, if only his mother was a muggleborn, then his father must've been born to at least one magical. Why then had Harry been raised with Vernon and Petunia? Given a choice, Harry would have picked any magical relatives, or any other relatives really.

Slipping into a slight daydream that he had been raised in the magical world, filled with laughter and flying brooms, Harry was startled out of it as he was struck by a strange thought. "Sorry, but I think I actually have another question; why do muggles not know about magic?" He asked. If magic was real, how could problems in everyday life exist, surely there were spells that could help those who couldn't cast it themselves?

"You will learn this in History of Magic, but in 1692, due to years of bloody encounters, between muggles and wizards, The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was enacted. The combined forces of wizards across the globe cast wove a web of spells over the world that caused everyone without magic to forget that it existed but did not stop later discovery of magic for the muggleborn. It's really interesting actually, as the spells utilized a sort of modified Fidelius charm.," She explained, her voicing getting faster and bursting with excitement over the prospect of explaining the intricacies of the methods the wizards had employed. Just as Harry's eyes were about to glaze over, the bus stopped suddenly, and Julia called out that they had reached the 'Leaky Cauldron'.

The Professor immediately stood and began walking off the bus. Harry dutifully followed, standing behind her while she said partings to the young witch. The pair made their way into a dingy pub, not the place Harry had in mind as the start of his magical adventure. Entering the building, a man behind the bar greeted Professor Sprout warmly through the murmur of the pub. He was of average height, but his smile distinguished him, filled with warmth and welcome, giving off an aura shimmering with kindness. "Pomona, in for a drink?" He asked in a slightly Scottish accent.

"Sorry Tom, I've got one new to the Alley today," She responded, her voice carrying clearly across the room.

"Oh, a new muggleborn eh? Well, the name's Tom. Welcome to the wizarding world," he said, smiling down at Harry. Others followed his lead, doffing their caps or waving cheerfully. However, a few looked at him with disdain; one man sitting at the bar looked downright murderous.

"Filthy Mudbloods, taking all the jobs," he muttered loud enough for everyone around him to hear, provoking a reaction out of Tom.

"That's enough outta you Nott. I don't care if you've lost your job or not, that language is unacceptable and not tolerated in my pub," He said, the warmth in his eyes dimming as he turned towards 'Nott'. Those who had greeted Harry kindly shared Tom's sentiment, looking at the man with complete and utter disgust. Tom continued, "If I hear that again you'll be banned from this establishment, and I'll be sure to let others know as well."

As the rest of the patrons began adding their two cents, Professor Sprout grabbed Harry's hand, not noticing the flinch that it provoked, and led him to the back of the pub. Grabbing her stick again, she tapped four different bricks, each with small numbers chiseled into them, causing the wall to disassemble and create an archway. The sunlight that spilled through the newly created doorway was radiant, though nothing compared to the sight that was Diagon Alley.

The Sun.

Stepping into the sun and through the arch, Harry was bombarded by the image of a narrow street bustling with life. The street itself was an old-fashioned, cobble road, somehow very clean despite the traffic. The people walking to and fro were dressed very strangely, in apparel nearly indistinguishable between the men and woman. They all wore cloaks that hung just past the knees, an unpractical choice considering the unusually warm air that the summer given in the typically rainy England, with every color of the rainbow represented by those in the crowd. Underneath the robes many wore a strange blend of clothes; amongst the sea of people, Harry could see one particularly distinguishable woman dressed in an ugly, yellow, floral patterned top with purple and green dungarees. Most had also donned hats, a gamut beginning with small caps and ending with wearable perches that had real animals atop them. It was bizarre, the experience of stepping into a new world so similar yet so different.

Harry felt his jaw touch the floor as he looked further than the people in front of him. The buildings, it seemed, were just as diverse and unusual. A row of shops stretched in front of him and the street he was on, defying many of the laws of physics. One such shop, Wrights Right Wears, had a display of hats completely arched over the alley touching down on both sides of the street. The lack of doors momentarily threw him off, until he witnessed several shoppers walk directly through a window, unfazed by the absurdity of it. Other shops, like Agatha's Animal Apothecary, seemed to be just large enough to store a few of its ingredients in a storage closet, but on further inspection seemed to be much bigger inside with its winding shelves and gaggle of customers. An image of a blue police box came into his mind, tempting him to exclaim about the doctor and a sonic screwdriver, but he pushed the temptation down. His eyes darted from storefront to storefront, trying to take in every bit of detail, even as he remained rooted in place, mouth catching flies. If this was a dream, it was an exceptionally imagined dream and He impressed himself with his imagination. Professor Sprout let him gape at the world he had been introduced to, her smile directed more towards the shine in Harry's eyes than at the Alley.

After a few moments, and a few nudges by impatient shoppers, the professor began slowly walking forward. Harry followed absently, paying too much attention to everything around him to notice their movement. A few other streets branched off from the main Alleyway: Knockturn, Upturn, Loud, Cross-section, the names continued well past the dimensions of the post the names were hung off of. At the intersection of Cross-section and Diagon Alley, the pair found their first stop. Their destination was a large white building, standing at least four stories tall held up by large marble pillars going up. The steps matched the marble of the pillars, and the face building seemed to be made from a single, smooth piece of quartz. A short poem was engraved in gold on the door, flanked by two statues in full plate armor. They stood at the same height as Harry, holding massive spears made of a strange silvery metal. Harry moved closer, his eyes gliding over the smooth, gold inscription.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

As he finished reading, a movement caught his eye: the statue had moved. Harry began to stare at what he thought had been made of stone, correctly guessing a similarity to the Queen's Foot Guards in how they stood. The rationalization, however, did not prevent Harry from giving his best fish impression, his eyes glued to guards, Seeing this, and hoping to shake Harry from his current predicament, Professor Sprout opened the doors to reveal an interior as dazzling as the exterior.

The room was as wide as the outside had suggested. The floor was paved in solid gold, pillars of silver erupting every ten meters. Between the pillars were mahogany desks taller than any man that Harry believed possible. The walls, instead of another precious metal, were made from dark wood and the paneling led up to the large domed ceiling. Windows that had not been seen from outside were scattered around the room, lighting the space. Not unlike a cathedral, the windows were stained glass, giving a reddish tint to the light in the room. Thousands of battle scenes were depicted on the stained glass, ferocious-looking creatures fighting with medieval weapons. The warmth from the windows reached Harry, softly reminding him he was on the correct path.

The creatures in the stained glass were very similar to those behind the tall desks as well. They all seemed to be cut from gems, their features sharp and hard. The sickly color of their skin gave the impression of trapped and swirling sulfur and, given the slightly rotten egg smell, the sulfur had more to do with their appearance than a first glance would have one assume. Professor Sprout led him to an open desk, gesturing for Harry to sit in the chair opposite of the creature. He paid no attention to the duo and their antics at first. Upon sitting in the chair, it propelled him up so that he was sitting slightly lower than the teller. It looked at him and spoke, its teeth glinting dangerously in the red light, "What business brings you to Gringotts today." It folded its hands and looked at Harry expectantly. At first, Harry assumed it was annoyed, looking like how Vernon often did at him, a glance in his eyes showed that its no-nonsense manner was simply a matter of how it was.

Harry looked down out of habit, confessing softly, "I don't actually know." Cringing at speaking so informally, he corrected himself quickly, "I mean, I do not know, sir."

Professor Sprout used his statement as her opportunity to interject softly, "Harry, this is the wizarding bank, Gringotts. This is where we can get your key and access your money." Harry much preferred her soft and musical voice to the sharp and brusque voice the teller had used, too much like Vernon.

About to respond, Harry was cut off as the creature spoke again, "Unfortunately, I cannot help with a new key, here is your number we will call you when you are ready." The chair suddenly floated back down to the floor. Harry hopped off, following Professor Sprout to the middle of the bank.

"What are they ma'am, if I can ask that. They aren't human right?" he asked nervously, hoping he wasn't being rude or disrespectful.

The professor was quick to answer, her voice adopting a malicious tone that did not suit her, "They are goblins, Harry, they are the race that wizards most commonly do battle against, wizards notwithstanding." It was apparent that she did not like the goblins, and Harry would be hard-pressed to disagree with the sentiment. However, just as he thought this, the same voice that reprimanded him for disbelieving in magic spoke once more, "Yet, you are also mistreated for being different, is that any different?'. As he thoughtfully digested the question, a voice rang out, as though through an intercom, "now serving number 83." The voice was different from the goblin who had helped them, warm like the sun in the evening. Harry hoped this meant his next experience would be as positive as before.

It wasn't. Curse The Sun.

Professor Sprout brought him to the main counter, presenting the number to the teller, "83 here for key replacement." The goblin looked down at her, tilting his head at a small gate. The gesture caused the gate to open, and Professor Sprout led Harry to it. Beyond the gate was a seemingly infinite hallway. The doors opened out, strangely enough, demonstrated by the third door on his left, into which Harry was led into. After walking him in, Professor Sprout left, the door closing behind him. Again, a totally different layout than before, Harry stepped into a warm room resembling the room Harry had written his response letter. What was days ago felt like years for the small boy, so many events had transpired since then? Shaking his head, Harry focused back on the present, at the goblin sitting in a large ornate chair. Harry was about to greet him politely when the goblin spoke,

"Affairs between goblins and families can only be held between goblins and families. As you need a key, this is a family affair." He put one of his hands on the table, showing off his sharp nails. "Take a seat. I am Gugkrat," the goblin introduced himself. Harry immediately did as he was told, sitting in the simple chair, in comparison, opposite the goblin. "Who is the key for?" Gugkrat asked gruffly. Harry wondered if they were attempting to be intimidating or if the stained glass was a correct demonstration of their direct manner.

"Harry Potter?" His voice trembled, asking more than telling. The goblin continued, not caring about the inflection used to answer his question,

"Date of Birth?" Harry slowly answered, and the goblin proceeded to pull out a quill and a long piece of parchment covered with letters Harry did not recognize. "Sign here," He instructed, pointing to a line, "That is a blood quill, a cursed item, it will hurt to write with it." Harry did so obediently. Gugkrat snatched the parchment away and walked over to a letter slip, pushing it through. "We have a few minutes Mr. Potter; do you have any questions about Gringotts that I can help with?" the goblin asked, his tone implying the answer better be negative. Harry was about to say no, eager to end the meeting. He imagined that is what The Sun wanted, as no ray of light had spilled onto him during his contemplation of the decision. That is, he assumed so until the goblin knocked over a small bowl, dead insects falling to the ground. With three landing legs in the air, and four with their back to the ceiling, his answer was changed; he trusted cleromancy.

"Yes, sir. The money system, what is its conversion to Pound Sterling?" Harry inquired.

"A knut is worth 20 pence, a sickle comes in at 20 pounds, making a Galleon worth 1,000 pounds," the Goblin answered, looking annoyed at the conversation being continued. Harry felt slightly dazed, this world used such extreme amounts of currency. Gugkrat continued, "For example, I believe Hogwarts tuition is seven and a half Galleons a year or about 7,500 pounds a year."

"What is the interest rate that Gringotts provides?" Harry asked, trying to match the pointed talking style of the goblins and failing immensely. Gugkrat glared at the young boy in front of him, sharpening his tone as he responded.

"Gringotts bank does not have interest, nor does it have holding fees; good for an account like yours, which has done nothing but sit for 10 years." Harry wondered why this was, voicing his confusion aloud.

"Do you not invest the money in the bank?"

The goblin gave him a hard stare, spitting out his words at Harry, "The Goblin Nation does not see it fit to gamble with the precious items that we are given to protect. Investing would be foolish."

"Then how do you get money?" Harry questioned; the goblin's responses were contradicting everything he had overheard Vernon teach Dudley about money matters.

"The goal of Gringotts bank is not to make money, it is to protect it," Gugkrat defended.

"Why is that?" Harry asked bravely, excited to have finally reached the heart of the matter. The goblin took a moment before speaking,

"Goblins do not reproduce. A goblin is brought into this world when a certain amount of magical gold is held within one place. However, the gold must be infused with a wizard's magic to bring a goblin. Thus, it is in the best interest of The Goblin Nation to hold as much gold as we can," The goblin said without changing the expression, or lack thereof, on his face. His tone was even, riling up Harry at the strange and rather farfetched response. Replying to what Gugkrat had explained, Harry realized he didn't know if what he was just told was the truth or a lie, he was unable to read his emotions. It was a very odd feeling, not knowing. Fighting to return his heart rate to normal, he took calm steadying breaths, hoping that the world of magic didn't end up destroying what little he had.

A knock on the door sounded in the room, preceding another goblin entering. Stretching out his arm towards Harry, he presented what was in his hands: a shining, gold key.

The Sun.

Edit 3/21/2020


	4. Chapter 3: The Sun II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. At this point, I have completed through chapter 5. This story idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. Note I enjoy naming characters. If they speak, they will most likely have a name. That does not mean that they are a major player, or even that you need to remember it. I am still short a beta, this chapter will be of a lower quality than the previous two. Please contact me if running over phrasing and grammar (as well as making sure that I used the correct homophone) for this story would be interesting for you, It would help a lot. I did not gain permission to use McDonald's in this story, all rights are reserved for McDonald's.

Chapter Three: The Sun II

The Sun.

Harry was thankful for the sudden interruption to his current conversation, both goblin and human staring at the new being that had just entered the room. The new goblin upon further evaluation looked slightly different from Gugkrat, his nose slimmer, ears shorter, his brow less defined. Overall, if Harry had to choose, he would spend time with the new entry then with his current counterpart. This was definitely due to appearance and had nothing to do with the rising tension of their previous conversation, Harry decided to inform himself. Gugkrat eyes cut into both the new entry and Harry, the yellow masses inflamed with fury, his eyes flickering between an elegant silver sword on his wall and the new occupant of the room.

The new goblin was unfazed by the situation and merely called for Harry to follow him, his cool eyes indifferent to the malice of Gugkrat, which Harry wasted no time in complying with. Jumping out of his chair he said a quick thank you to Gugkrat and gave a quick polite bow, muttering something about being sorry for being so rude. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and bolted from the room and back in the endless hallway. His new companion led him back from the way they had entered, to the main room of the bank.

Despite seeing the cathedral-like room before the sight still stopped him in his tracks. He wondered at the sight, the light ever painting the room in a myriad of soft, warm colors. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful piece of architecture he had ever seen. Harry was sure if he devoted the rest of his life to find a place more beautiful, he would be wasting the rest of his life. Upon reexamining the room his eyes fell on the form of his future professor. The pair made eye contact despite being so far separated, and the good professor gave Harry a small and reassuring smile. Harry decided that that would have to be enough for him to continue.

His new escort wasted no time and continued his path, his pace never wavering, his small strides quicker than Harry's own. Seeing the goblin flee from his peripheral Harry quickened his pace to be in step with the yellowed creature. Eventually the duo had moved behind the counters and into a small railyard. The darkened room full of stone and misplaced debris was in direct contrast to the pristine hall they had just been in, with no door to transition them. It was as if the room prior had been built upon the mouth of a cave. The goblin continued forward and into a mining cart, configured with cushions. Harry's companion sat in the back gripping tight to the break bar with one hand, pushing his other taloned appendage in a violent way. Harry tried to decipher what the goblin wanted. As he stood there, confused, the goblin finally took pity on him, or was perhaps too angry to continue waiting, "Sit in the cart so that we may get your gold, sir." The way he hissed at Harry was condescending. His tone carried with it a sense of importance, as if he was of more use to the world and Harry wasn't good enough to clean his shoes.

Harry wondered whether it was a good idea or not to enter the cart, but the growing hostility on his guide's face was enough to make the answer for him, scurrying into the cart he took a seat. "My name is Brunrak and I will be your supervisor today, we are going to vault 687, does Mr. Potter have anything to declare." As if the goblin was reading from a script he repeated the line, much like a fast-food worker when asking for your order, it came from a place of false happiness, this was discounting how Brunrak was a worse actor then the sixteen-year-olds at McDonald's. Thinking of the food place reminded Harry of his skipped meals for the day, hunger moving into his mind. The goblin took his silence as an answer and the cart slowly pushed forward. That was until they hit what was the mouth of a cave and dropped.

Harry was sure the speed they had just hit was terminal velocity, the wind ripping at his face, the walls blending into one blur, and eventually disappearing into the dark entirely. Every so often Harry would lurch into the side of the cart, surprised to not feel hard steel but instead a soft plush. A cornucopia of sounds echoed throughout the tunnels, the hard steel on steel of the cart over the tracks, the sound of roaring and yelling, and various other animalistic sounds. As time had faded, he had no clue how long the trip had taken, he and Brunrak were stopped. Brunrak lit a lantern illuminating the chamber they were in. There seemed to be no landmarks that discern their current position from any other, but he assumed that is why the goblin was escorting him. Getting out of the cart Harry heaved onto the stone floor. Collecting himself he looked at Brunrak who looked back at him in disdain. Harry grew smaller at the look causing the goblin to grow a cruel smile. The beast then started down a natural hallway, his shadow casting a large monstrous shape behind him, Harry dutifully following. The two walked in silence, far cry from the sounds of the cart ride was the pitter of footfall echoing into the soft nothing.

Harry's heart began to accelerate, was he to be killed for his rudeness, was the sharp-toothed monster going to kill and eat him. His muscles tightened, ready to do what he needed to get to safety. Would Professor Sprout save him, did she even care, she left him with this thing. Harry's disgust with the humanoid was only growing the longer they walked, why was such a vial thing entrusted with money, the lifeblood of the world. He should kill the miserable bugger, preemptively start the pest extermination. Harry took a moment and stopped, breathing deeply, pushing the thoughts away, confused about how they had come to him. He had done this before, always when he least expected it, at times his mind was not on guard. It was often the reason he believed the Dursleys when they called him a freak, he knew what he thought was wrong. After calming himself, breathing like he was about to do cleromancy, the murderous instinct left him, but the distrust of Brunrak never fled him.

"Stop." Brunrak suddenly announced, stopping in front of the wall. Pressing his small, acute, fingers against the wall, dragging them in a short pattern. In response to the caress, the wall creaked. The wall then began to open revealing an offshoot chamber. The cavern was the size of Dudley's spare room and matched the hall they currently were in, a dark and tight tomb of rock. Stepping into the room a dozen torches blazed to life, illuminating the contents of the room.

Seated in the middle of the floor was a large ornate chest. The chest was made from dark wood and banded in a silver gleamed metal. Sitting directly above the break was an elaborate design, depicting a shield surrounded by green curling vines which spring from a full plate helm above the shield. The shield is green with a silver arrow pointed up. In addition to the arrow are three animals on it, the top left housed a griffin, colored in purple, next to it a lion in blue, finally a stag in red. An inscription in a language he was not aware of was written upon a banner.

Approaching the large box revealed a keyhole that perfectly matched his key. Turning the key until it clicked allowed Harry to push up the lid, surprised at the lightness of it, slowly brushing over the elaborate symbol. As the lid opened Harry debated what he had known before, as maybe magic was not his sun. Reflecting what was all of the light in the room, bathing Harry in a golden glow, was a large collection of golden coins. He could feel the power of such a collection of money. It was not the same as his book or the cards, it was a subtle humming. As if it was calling out into the world for something, it was powerful but subtle. As he began running his hands through them, feeling the soft metal, he understood why the goblins would not invest it, it was a beautiful thing to be treasured, to be held, to be protected.

The lid of the chest held three different items, two buckets, and a baggie. Harry grasped the bag and turned to the goblin, sheepishly questioning him, "I don't know how much I will be needing sir, and I would hate to have to come back and waste more of your time." Harry knew that appealing to the disdain that Brunrak held for him would get him the answers he wanted. He was not disappointed at his small attempt at manipulation.

Brunrak sneered at him, hissing in response, "You will need a few galleons, less than five, but also clear out the sickles and knuts." Harry looked at the chest for the bronze coinage, eventually locating it in one of the buckets, with silver pieces next to it. Shoving all the lowered valued currency in the bag, as well as five of the gold pieces. A whirling wind sound reverberated in the room. Investigating despite the hard task of finding the direction in the echoing room found the sound came from a corner of the trunk, along the edge of the seal, hidden when the chest is closed. Looking closely at the ridge a combination lock like object sat displaying 0005101G 000S 000K. He gingerly closed the sack and the chest. Carefully removing the key and placing it in the bag, putting the large strap around his neck, not feeling the weight of coinage. Harry took one last look at the stunning treasure chest before leaving the room, weary to leave the powerful coins behind. The goblin muttered something in a sweet-sounding language closing the room off again, leaving only the smooth piece of indistinguishable wall.

Again, in silence, they returned to the cart. Harry kept on guard the entire trip to the cart, jumping at the strange sounds and menacing shadows. As before the ride was thrilling, but Harry was worried and could not focus on his ride. Ever since he had discovered his divinations the thoughts of doing horrid acts had left him, so much that he had nearly forgotten them, yet seeing the cursed looking humanoids had brought it back in full force, making an effort to quench the demonic thought. He sat tight and rigid at the prospect of him reverting to the thoughts, of letting it run free, he remembered the horror of the younger years: slip poison in Petunias drink, smother Dudley so his incessant snoring stops, take the knife and thin out your uncle. He often felt like a stranger in his own skin when those thoughts began, it was horrifying, the thoughts themself not making him sick, and for that reason alone he felt sick. His trail of thoughts ended as they had reached the surface, welcomed by the blistering bright light of the world. The sun itself purging his body and mind of the dark thoughts. Taking more than a few seconds to orientate himself Harry glanced around the room. Other people were led by goblins to carts to go down the way he had just come from, none looked happy to be sharing the sulfured smelling creatures' company, none looked trustful of them.

Harry did not thank Brunrak for his service, somehow the goblin had beaten his decidedly low expectations into the dirt and caused him to like the thing less than Gugkrat. Gugkrat was honest and frontward, Brunrak was a creature of deceit. It seemed both parties wanted to be out of the other company with great haste. Rushing into the atrium Harry approached his soft-featured professor, thankful to see her kind form, even if still surrounded by the sharp-featured goblins.

"How did it go?" She asked him, her soft voice filling the boy with cleansing relaxation.

"It was great."

The Sun.

The duo was again out on the spilling streets of the Ally, being prepared this time Harry avoided gawking at everything in his view. Despite that, the sight of a small puppet show with self-aware puppets harassing the puppeteer was enough to make him laugh with the rest of the small children clogging the street to watch, the man's clothing even more colorful and extravagant than the common folk. The sun had begun to sink down below the tops of the buildings that hugged the street, it's warmth going with it. Professor Sprout brought the boy to some basic shops, dropping a full galleon on a combination of his trunk and telescope.

Following that he was led to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside the quaint shop, there were a few witches and wizards of various ages, each specifically tending to their own customer. The customers also had a variety of ages with some being as young as Harry looked. Harry was pulled from his musing as Professor Sprout greeted one of the occupants of the room.

"Ah, Filius I had not expected to see you today." The man she addressed looked to be a smoothed-out goblin as if his hard corners had been worked by a master craftsman, his voice was much like his appearance, taking the harsh goblin sounds and fitting them into a less harsh voice.

"Well Pomona, I could say the same to you." He jested back. "I have the wonderful honor of escorting Mr. Dean Thomas over there and his mother Charlotte." He pointed first to a tall black boy then turning his finger on a beautiful woman with the same coloration.

"It's nice to meet you, I am Pomona Sprout, the Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts and head of the Hufflepuff house." She greeted the woman curtly with a forced smile. "This is Harry," she pointed at the small boy who slumped at the attention, "He is also his first year."

Filius perked up at this. Harry looked into his eyes and got a flash of the same 'the-boy-who-lived'. That was all he was able to ascertain before the goblin-like-man broke eye contact with him, looking confused. "As in-"

Professor Sprout cut him off before he could continue, "The very same, so I am not of the opinion to advertise it." She said in a commanding tone. It was at that moment that a woman in her early 40's approached Harry and led him into the room. The lady had a nametag declaring her to be Doris. He was being measured with a magical tape with the lady noting the dimensions. Looking to his right to avoid the embarrassment of being scrutinized in such a way he saw another young person. This time a girl with a cute face, freckled, with straight chestnut hair. He didn't realize he was staring until she cleared her voice.

"Is there something on my face?" She admonished the boy with her tone, despite only asking a question.

"No, no you are fine." He looked away feeling his cheeks warm up, attempting to fix his mistake he offered conversation. "I am Harry, this is my first year, I am going to Hogwarts." He said, still not looking back.

"Gemma Ansley," her response was curt, "And I am going to Hedgeridge, I should be glad to be away from all the muggleborns in that falling school I guess." Glancing back at her made him wish he hadn't as she was giving him a hard glare. That was until she noticed both the person working on him and the one on her giving hard looks at the young woman. She looked away, her face hard and unflinching.

The pair did not speak again, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her. Eventually, after what felt an eternity, his tailor brought out a cart full of clothes, in addition to his required three robes, cloak, and hat, the young man also asked for three sets of shirts and slacks, with a pair of shoes as well. She handed the batch over asking for his name to go on the uniform.

"Harry Potter." He answered and the lady chuckled.

"I was being serious young man." She said through her glee, as if in an attempt to reprimand him, but failing.

"So was I, my name is Harry Potter." He said the sentence so quietly that the rest of the store could not hear it. Was something wrong with his name?

She gave the boy a quick glare, muttering something about a funeral, and spelled the name on the clothing. Giving him the large number of clothes, glaring at him she let the boy go. Moving back to the professor saw her standing alone. The second professor, Filius, and the Thomas's have finished and departed already. Seeing his approach, she reached down and opened his trunk for his new apparel to go inside. Dumping the multi sickle purchase in the trunk he hurried out of the store, for the first time leading the kind professor, wondering how he had gotten two people upset at him already.

After that stop the day started to blur, going to various shops to get various necessities, and his stomach started to growl. Hearing it his companion stopped, just after the two had exited the Potage's Potions Shop (all your potions needs in one place), asking if he was hungry. Answering in the affirmative she asked him another question.

"Would you like to get your wand first?"

Thinking about it, he decided that the food needed to wait. He assumed the wand was how Professor Sprout had done all the amazing things today and the sooner he had one the better. She led him to a tall shop that curved over the street, looming over it. The store had no windows and was called Ollivanders. Harry took a step inside and again found himself alone. Taking another step into the room he looked around the long shop. Directly in front of him was the counter with rows and rows of shelves behind it. In the middle of the counter was a single bell. Ringing it he waited. He was still alone, wondering the merits of going to get the food he wanted. That was until he heard a soft voice behind him, which was odd since the door he came in was directly behind him and still closed.

"Mr. Potter, I had wondered when I would find you here to buy your wand." It was a masculine voice which despite its tone carried through the store, "I wonder if you will be like your father, Mahogany, 11 inches, a particularly proud thunderbird. So much so I'm surprised the pair could do magic with each other given their individual pride," he gave a light laugh at that, finding humor in his own joke, "his was pliable, a wand built for power and transfiguration."

A short break occurred, and Harry was about to interject to ask for more. That was until the man cut him off, "Or maybe you will be like your mother 10 ¼ inch Willow, swishy, with the core of a Swedish Short-snout that was no doubt as temperamental as she was, but was excellent at charms." The man was rambling, but Harry held firm to every word, memorizing it, swimming in it. This was his parents, proud and hot-tempered for his dad and mum respectfully. The man then moved in to Harry's view.

He was a short man and horribly thin. Harry imagined his appearance is what was in his own future. His eyes though, much like Harry carried more than his body did. His were a sparkling blue that radiated curiosity as if he was on an endless search for a question he did not know. His head was overlaid with tight wrinkles and framed with a silver mop of hair. If someone were to tell Harry that the oldest man in the world was standing in front of him, right now, Harry would believe it in a heartbeat. The dinosaur of a man moved behind the counter with surprising speed and nimbly hopped over it grasping at a stick of wood and holding it out in offering for Harry. "Give it a wave."

Harry did. Then he did it again, then again, and again. Each and every time the result was the same, each and every time ending in failure. He gained no connection on any attempt and every wand refused to do anything for the young wizard. Harry grew more and more desperate with every wand, his terror that he was not a wizard growing every time, not noticing the smile on the wandmakers face growing with each attempt.

Finally, after at least one hundred attempts, Harry gripped at a wand and it was different. It was much like his other special items, attaching to him, telling him that it was his. It was smooth on his fingers, sending a comforting feeling up his arm to the center of his being. It was a cool feeling, pulling him down, anchoring him to earth. This object was as much his friend as his cards. His partner gave him a promise to be with him always, to be the team that would do great things. This wand made him feel like standing up and proclaiming, 'I am Harry Potter, and I am destined for greatness.' As the power in the room slowly turned around the boy the smile was gone from the wandmaker's face. A more stoic stance was taken instead. Harry looked at the wand in his hand and saw a bright wood, white, with light brown shoots on it, it had a distinct handle, which turned at a sharp angle to the shaft. Waving it in front of him directing the magic around him sending the chilling toll of a bell throughout the shop, yet despite the eeriness of the sound, it brought comfort to the young wizard, for the toll sounded was not his own.

The same could not be said for the master wand crafter, the combination of wand and its declarative magic, reminding him of another who had stood in this shop. Another young boy, alone and ragged. He looked into the boy's eyes and found himself looking into his own. The master crafter broke eye contact and began to tell a story, "Yew, 13 inches, with the optic nerve of a dying reclusive demiguise, ridged. Especially adept at illusions." He paused and looked back at the boy with a seriousness that was new and unfamiliar upon his face. "I remember every wand I have crafted, for decades upon decades I have done my craft and remember every face for every wand, the yew tree which gave its wood for yours I visited three times." He paused and collected himself, taking a deep breath, recounting the story as if the fall of a loved one occurred, "The first two I gathered samples from the proud old tree, the last I watched its final embers go out. One Tom Riddle has its one and only brother, and he did terrible things, not limited to your scar." He reached across the counter and touched the covered spot on his head, shocking Harry at the accuracy of his facial disfigurement. His touch was as cold as death itself and brought with it the realization that the scar once attributed to a car accident was more.

Suddenly, as if a switch had flipped, the serious man was gone, as quickly as he came, and the jovial shop owner was back, "If I throw in a dragonhide holster we can call it an even two, what do you say, short-snout in honor of your mother." Despite the situation that had occurred Harry couldn't help but to smile and accept the offer. He watched the old man move to the back of his selection coming back with a multi strapped armband which looked like liquid sapphire had been poured on it, despite its malleable nature. Harry quickly took it cradling the holster to his chest in an attempt to hug his mother.

The old man proceeded to show him how to set it up, how to slide his wand in and out, and generally told him how to best take care of his expensive purchase. After a few more minutes, almost making Harry forget the serious demeanor the man had previously, Harry was outside the shop. Sadly, it was only almost.

The Sun.

The streets population had been culled in the hour he was away from it. A few stragglers moved from shop to shop, groups of teens gossiping about this and that, pointing at various new items in the windows. Harry did not know what he should be doing, as Professor Sprout was not in his vision. Taking his alone time, Harry sat on the ground, summoning his wand from its holster on his wand. He began to twirl it, stopping to grip it, trying to find a position comfortable for his hand to sit on. Eventually, he decided on a grip. Not a few minutes later, still twirling his wand, gaining his grip, Professor Sprout came up to him, wheeling his trunk and holding a cage with a blanket over it. Slipping his wand away he moved up to meet her halfway.

"Did you get one?" She asked.

"Yep" Slipping it out he showed her his new companion.

She was obviously impressed with the beautiful wood examining it, noting the odd bend. "And a wand holster I see." Her tone letting him know that it was the correct choice to get one.

"Swedish Short-Snout for mum." He declared, proud of the first thing he had connecting him to either parent. The professor beamed at his show of loyalty, tearing up slightly at the idea of this poor boy growing up without his mother.

"I did promise you food, how about we go back to the Leakey before I have to bring you home?"

"Ya." He answered, meekly at the reminder that this would end shortly, his short adventure into this new world would be ending for a month hiatus.

The two walked, Harry more openly asking questions about the world he entered, the professor answering everything in kind. Harry was truly happy, as this was the closest he had ever been to having a friend. Arriving at the brick wall that started this adventure he asked a new question. "Can I open the wall, please?" To which the professor merely laughed at his eagerness, gesturing him to begin. Tapping the marked bricks caused the wall to move out, opening the dark pub again. The pair took a seat, as a woman who introduced herself as Diane, and ordered, both deciding on burgers. As she left the professor spoke up again.

"I actually got you something as a birthday gift." She gave a light blush. Harry eyed her confused as she picked up the cage, taking off the cloth covering to reveal a toad. It was a dark brown, nearly black, instead of having warts on its neck it had small protrusions and a large single horn from its nose. "Most people do not like toads, so I was going to get you an owl, but well, I saw this horned one and thought of you." she rambled out. Harry just looked at her wide-eyed and shocked. He was surprised at her generosity. Added to that, this was a gift that she spent a lot of time on, given the conflict within her story.

"Thank you," He said with an ear-splitting grin, "this is the first present I have ever had; does it have a name."

She looked at him, in confusion about the gift part of the sentence, but answered the same, "No, you can name him." At that Harry fished out his History of Magic text opening it to the middle and leafing through the pages settling on the story of a warlock fighting against a race of creatures called Dementors, sealing them away. "He will be Alastair." Harry declared. A soft form of magic connected the two as he took ownership of the toad. Looking into its brown eyes was intelligence and some manner of pride. The familiar and its human continued their staring contest until the food arrived, which Harry devoured as fast as he could, the succulent food tasting better than anything he had ever had. The juices exploded all over his mouth. When he finished his stomach hurt, and he didn't even care.

Being done before his future teacher he waited patiently for her to finish. Until something caught her eye. "Quirinus." She waved at someone behind Harry. Harry heard the thudding of steps behind him.

"Pomona," He greeted back as excited as she was. "It's so nice to see you after a whole year."

"Yes, and how was your sabbatical?"

"Splendid, I was in Turkey, then to Greece, and finally Albania." He said the last name with a bit of fear.

"Oh my, why so much travel?"

"Well, in prep for this year's classes, I thought I'd try my hand at vampires. Now let me tell you they live up to the stories." He paused for what Harry concluded could only assume was to have a dramatic effect. "I rooted out a clan in Turkey you see, various uses of Trabem Solis saw me through. That is where I got this." The man was now in Harry's peripheral, swinging a chair around sitting in it with his front on its back, using the rest as his head prop. Pointing to his head saw a purple turban atop his young average face. His hazel eyes sitting atop his sunned skin. "Sadly, the leader ran to the west, so I, of course, followed, after grabbing my reward of course. Sadly, that stop put me off his trail." He again stopped, loving the look of anticipation upon the professor's face. "That was until I heard mention of a diviner in Greece." Harry perked up at that, hearing about his own pastime, finding it had relevance in this world.

"Quin, you know we don't exactly hold stock of that here." As his professor admonished the man Harry's hope left. What he enjoyed was not accepted?

"Pomona, we do teach divination," he reminded her using the same tone against her, "and the field is well developed in Greece, in fact, I would say it has the best teachers in the world," Harry noted that Greece was his first international destination. "Well, that is when I met old Cyrus, who told me that 'my trip would bring me to the unexplored land to the north' which I took to be the virgin beech forest. There, after parlaying with the local centaur population, I found him, with more monsters. That is when I used a spell I had found in Greece at the request of the old man. I krísi tou íliou" He spoke with a flourish.

Without allowing him to continue Harry cut him off "The judgment of the Sun." He exclaimed confidently, sounding just how he had pictured it over the years. Wonder in his eyes over the application. Wonder at the man for the amazing sounding feat over a single summer.

Then the stranger turned to Harry, noticing him for the first time. "That is correct young man," He narrowed his eyes at the boy, "now who might you be?" The accusation of how he knew was not vocalized. Harry looked into his eyes and received nothing in return other than a deeper, more focused look. "You see, this turban has been charmed to increase resistance to mind effects, it works really good on vampires, and Legilimens." He added hotly to the end, his tone holding with it an accusation.

Harry looked at him confused about why he got nothing, and of what he was being accused of, "Well, I have been studying Greek, and I am Harry, Harry Potter." He bowed his head.

"The Harry Potter?" He turned to Sprout who nodded in the affirmative, looking shaken.

"Harry, maybe it is best we go now, yes?" Harry looked back at her nodding. Noticing the room begin to start mummering at his declaration, not noticing how Quirinus's story had more then the tables' occupants enthralled.

Turning to Quirinus and standing he muttered: "Nice to meet you, sir."

The young man responded, "It will be Professor to you Potter, Professor Quirrell. I will be seeing you, as well as you Pomona." With that, he left.

After Professor Sprout grabbed the tab the pair left and reentered the knights bus. The pair sat in silence, Harry from exhaustion, the professor from thought. Eventually, after the uneventful trip, the pair was at Privet Drive. Thanking her for her help, her present, and her company he hopped off the bus to the sound of her thanking him in return. Harry's feet slowly brought him to the house. Oddly, despite it being before nine o'clock, the house was dark. Walking around the perimeter of the house to the always unlocked back door Harry let himself in, never seeing the cricket bat which struck his face.

The Sun.


	5. Chapter Four: The Wheel of Fortune I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. WARNING: This chapter I introduce low-level horror elements, as you can see I do not have this story tagged as horror. I find when used sparingly it can make for a great addition to any story. No this will not be a straight-up horror read, but occasionally a chapter or two will have elements of it. Namely, as some people could probably tell, I will use elements of cosmic horror. I need a beta, so if anyone finds this story interesting please contact me and we can see if we can work together to make something good.

The Wheel of Fortune.

The future is unknown. This is an inevitability of the universe. A counter to this is 'The Laws of Cause and Effect and Probability' which can make educated guesses over that future. Some of these futures are clearer to foretell than others, letting go of a held object will prompt it to fall to earth is one example of this. One practice of divination is working magic to draw out the cause of the world and predict the most probable fate. Thus, the nemesis of divining the future with tarot is established, The Wheel of Fortune.

To a diviner, much like Harry thought himself, it was a card that spat in his face. It often seemed the true antithesis to the art. He also never predicted that his future existed so close to his present, that the future the card spoke of existed two days away. Harry assumed that he had entered the domain of The Wheel of Fortune given how his head spun. The dark of the room bright with lights conjured up by Harry's eyes, though they did not help him see, only visual representations of the force behind the blow. Looking around the kitchen he was so familiar with Harry located his assailant. Vernon was standing beside the door bat in hand, Harry's eyes caught the burning fury and surprise of Vernon's staring back. His uncle had never played the sport before, not beyond pickup games in high school, but the man oft spoke that there were many uses for the bat. It surprised both him and Harry as the contact of the visions swing was not enough to send Harry to bed, unconsciousness eluded. Within the fury was another emotion, fear. Fear of Harry's potential, and what he could do to his loved ones.

The burning desire to harm his ward, to protect that was important, overtook him again and approached Harry with the bat, eager for a second swing. From inside the man's mind, he saw instances of a warning letter, horror stories of Petunia's parents' demise and the leech in the cupboard were all the things going through the gigantic man's mind. Harry felt this and knew what to do, a way to prevent the pain, doing the practiced motion of only hours ago he sent his yew wand into his hand. Harry had no clue how to use a wand, but that didn't matter, the object alone should be enough for Vernon. Then, a strange occurrence happened, despite not knowing any spells, the focus generated a swirl of magic around Harry, to help its new master, the act fueled by the child's fear. His guardian took a step back, in horror, from the weapon in the hand of his ward. The house quaked beneath his retreat, the familiar sound of stairs taken faster then he had ever heard.  
Harry realized that he must flee, he doubted that this would be the last incident between the pair, the next would probably be fatal. Turning to run out the door he didn't make it far until he remembered his cards and his tome. Dragging his new chest with him he stumbled to his cupboard struggling to move, his mind still reeling, spots still decorating his vision. Almost pulling the door off its handles he combed through it, grabbing his treasures. His book, the cards, his stone collection, they all hadn't moved. He loaded the items into his chest, gingerly, vigilant to not damage them, they were his companions, his friends, Harry could never forgive himself if harm befell them. This had taken to much time. Overhead the sound of footsteps moving down the hall to the stairs provided a reminder he needed to hurry, the shower of dust above informed him he failed. Latching the chest he proceeded to the exit door again but was met in the hallway.

"Boy, stop right there," Vernon said in an aethereal serene tone, unsuited for his current state which should match that of a berserker. "Turn around," Years of conditioning triggered, and he listened, slowly turning to face the man who raised him, wand still in hand. Harry did and wished he hadn't, Vernon was standing at the bottom of the stairs holding a two-handed gun, a rifle which Harry did not realize existed before this occasion, Vernon's eyes no longer containing the rage and fear. Only retribution. The icy stare caused Harry to shiver, and for the first moment since beginning to live on Privet Drive, Harry had fear for his survival. The barrel of the weapon pointed straight at the child. Despite his slight proportion, there was no hope that the bullet would miss at this range, it wouldn't matter how quick he was, he would die. Before they had always taken comfort away from him, giving him enough to live, but his uncle or aunt would take it all away. Now they were taking more, taking his very self away.

Act or die. His instincts flooded him, and Harry yanked and pulled on his magic, allowing the foreign power to fill his whole being, saturating himself in the energy. He called out to it and asked for help, the flow coursing through him was his response. He asked his new partner, his 13 inches of yew, to help, pleading with it. The gun sounded and a crack followed. Blood hit the wall behind him, but Harry was gone.

The Wheel of Fortune.

White, everything was white. The ceiling, the walls, his clothes, the bedding, even the drink on his nightstand, all white. Even worse from the color was the fact that he recognized nothing. There existed no clock in the room, nor a calendar. The only thing that let him experience time was the sun's movement outside of his window. Maybe he was dead and waiting for his judgment, "the death card would have been better." He cursed his deck for not giving him an ample warning. Harry knew however that he was not dead, for the deceased probably had more enjoyable things to do than rest in a vacant room watching over an active street below. He felt over his shoulder, touching only a slight swell in the skin. Rolling it, there was no resistance nor loss in movement. A remarkable situation for having been shot. Inside his gown he rubbed his fresh scar, a slight thing despite the heinous nature of its origin.

A bare touch caused him to recall the burn. The agonizing sense of the hot bullet passing through his body, the agony of his retreat. Even worse from the pain of the bullet was the burning sensation all over his body inside and out. The sense of being compressed, as if his cupboard had collapsed on him, the pain of being ripped apart and assembled anew. A sudden impact of landing hard on the street, looking at his own leg, bleeding in front of his eyes, no longer on him. The rush of people approaching him, shouting, questioning. Nothing followed all this. After endless nothing, white. As the sudden urge to use the restroom hit, he sat, head spinning, the headache he didn't notice he had revealed itself. With his gown riding up from the activity he saw an ugly gash around his bad leg, the same limb he had lost a staring contest with. Eventually making his way to his feet he smiled a bright smile that the leg still worked, though walking to the bathroom showed his limp had magnified.

After relieving himself he walked into the room again. This time he was not alone. A single unique feature was present, the absence of glasses showing only a blur. It sat next to his bed, on a chair new to the room, for it gleamed brown, not white. The blur shot up and made its way to Harry, clutching him and struggling to help him back into bed. Harry flinched from the contact but allowed the man to guide him, the blur apologizing for not being in earlier. The sound was male. Once the man had made certain the young wizard sat snugly in bed they talked. The discussion that followed Harry would never forget.

"So, Mister Potter, My name is Harry Thompson, but you can call me Doctor Thompson. I have been in charge of your care since arrival at Albertsons Medical." The man said in a gentle voice as if wishing to not upset him. He had a pleasant tone. Harry wanted to glimpse into the man's eyes. "I am glad to inform you that you have made a complete physical recovery, that being a reattachment of your leg, and a complete overhaul of your shoulder." After letting Harry digest that report he continued, "This has taken the better part of a week to carry out, but you are physically healthy."

Harry interrupted him, in confusion at being asleep for over one day, not recalling an occasion where he slept over seven hours. "Doctor Thompson, you keep saying I am physically healthy, or physically fine, why do you specify that? Is something wrong with my mind, is something wrong with my magic?" Harry clasped his wet palms and shook, despite only being introduced to it yesterday he was possessive over his magic. Despite only being introduced to magic yesterday he realized it had been with him much longer. Magic surrounded him in Ollivander's shop when he joined with his wand, but also with his book, or his cards. He had known the delicate caress of magic with every divination attempt, losing it would be as if he had lost himself.

The room was quiet. "Apparition is a hard feat of magic, a large number of adults can never achieve it, given the amount of magic that needs to be channeled to succeed." He let that description resonate, his voice had a somber undertone he was struggling to suppress. "The fact you could do it is honestly perplexing, but it was not without consequence." The declaration remained in the air.

"To explain what happened to you I will have to first explain some things you would learn at your magic school a few years down the road. We wizards pull magic from the world to fuel spells, we then push it through our bodies to give it direction, and then through a concentrated point, that point being of our wand, which allows the magic to occur. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, it seemed like mumbo jumbo but Harry was racing to his answer, did he still have his magic, or was he alone. "One must practice magic to be able to push more of it through, much like a muscle, but if they push more then they can handle they hurt the body." He let Harry think upon his words. "As I have said, Apparition is difficult, but it is difficult for multiple reasons. The first is the concentration required, the second is the magic required. To be honest, your body couldn't handle the magical stress you had forced it into."

Harry nearly cried out. Would he never be able to use magic again? His breathing took off, his heart raced. "Sir, can I no longer use magic?" He questioned out loud, desperate to know.

The doctor's reply came slow, "You can, you have just damaged your magic pathways, making it more difficult for yourself. I am sorry." He answered in the same tone as his apology, mournful, all Harry wanted to do was cry. "Now Mr. Potter, the Aurors will come and ask you some questions about your situation, can I get you anything before that?"

"Yes please, I, well, I can't see. Could I get my glasses?"

"Of course, yours were broken, but I will send for a crafter, they will be up shortly." With that Dr. Thompson left the room. The dam that Harry had constructed broke, he cried. He knew of magics existence for less then a day already he had damaged the thing he found as the most precious. Vernon had sought to kill him. He thought about that, the man who raised him had tried to kill him. Harry assumed hatred from them, considered nonhuman in the eyes of his blood relatives, but to try and kill him like a rat, that was too much. What had he done, why did they despise him, what did he do. Was he evil for the sake, was his presence alone all that was required for hate to fester. The tears continued to fall, pooling below him.

From the foot of his bed, a small brown shape lunged at him, as Alastair made his residence known to the young wizard. Harry smiled down at the new pet whom he shared a special connection with, Alastair looked back. The pair sat in shared silence, both deep in sorrow. As the minutes rolled by a knock sounded. Wiping his face he told the knocker to enter with a wavering voice. It was another man, this one introduced himself Samual Harris, a master crafter of enchanted items, with a heavy lean on glasses, despite not wearing them himself. After various spells, he gave Harry a pair of glasses, pulled from a case that entered the room with the man. He promised he would return with the final product, but these filler glasses would have to work. Harry stayed in awe, never seeing so clear, the blurriness he thought natural, gone.

The Wheel of Fortune.

As Master Harris left, a pair of individuals approached, joining the white room. The woman appeared regal looking, her posture as straight as her greying auburn hair. Her eyes seemed hard as ice, and blue to match. Her compatriot was a firm man, younger than his co-worker, his head reflecting the lights of the room.

The woman took point, "Hello Mister Potter, my name is Amelia Bones, and this is my partner John Williamson, we have some questions for you." Her voice emanated authority, and despite being held back it rumbled with authority. The initial inquiries seemed routine, his name, age, birthday, address. Then she asked him if he remembered how he ended up where he was. He told her the tale, of the letter, of Professor Sprout, of reaching home, and of running away.

"Your uncle is currently in custody for attempted murder, and after finding traces in the home of child abuse your aunt was deemed unfit to continue to watch over children, meaning your cousin will be with your Aunt Marge now. You need not testify." She continued to explain what would happen to his former guardians, how the muggles would see they would never harm Harry again. The boy could only nod at the stream of horrible events that had happened to the Dursleys, feeling nothing but pity for them, why was it their fault they had to host him. They deserved it, they needed to suffer. That Dudley got off scot-free was bad enough. Harry didn't hate Dudley though, he was a respectful boy, he didn't despise the Dursleys at all, they were not evil. He breathed, closing his eyes he steadied himself, forcing the voice down again.

"Now is the question of your living condition next year. Luckily you are going to Hogwarts, but after that, we will need to locate you some new guardians, proper ones this time." She looked down on him with sympathy. "Don't worry about it. We can start on some paperwork later, but throughout the year we will have meetings in Hogsmeade, to find you a home, a family." After a few more moments of silence, she spoke again, realizing the boy wouldn't speak. "Until the year starts you will live here, on ministry funds, of course. You will have a curfew of seven o'clock in the evening and will answer to your physician as if he were your guardian. That is all, have a pleasant day." With that the duo left, leaving Harry again alone. Harry wondered if Mister Williamson couldn't speak.  
The hours milled away with Harry reading some basics from his textbooks, though none of them described what the doctor had said about magic and how it functioned. The books only spoke about feeling and willpower, using messy looking equations with variables that had no numerical value. How does one measure concentration? They listed things they called magic spells which looked to be pseudo-Latin phrases with literal and nonliteral translations to the effect they caused. Just as Harry began to drift off, another knock sounded on the door interrupted him, entering was the man who had given him his new glasses, Samual Harris. Harry gave the man a lookover, he deserved as much for letting Harry see.

Samual Harris was an odd fellow. He stood towering and heavy, not to Vernon extent, but tall and bulky all the same. He looked to be around Vernon's age. Despite that, he possessed a soft smile that was absent from his erstwhile guardian and a gleam that manifested in his eyes when he watched Harry seemed just as alien. He held a narrow package, bound in maroon and gold paper. "I got this for you, as a thank you and late birthday present, I have some enchanting to do on it, meaning I will do it by August 27th, but I wanted to make sure you liked them." He was nervous, Harry wondered what caused people to act a fool around him. A gorgeous pair of spectacles with rounded corners and sizeable frames came from the package. A brilliant silver color decorated the frames, not unlike the metal that was used in Gringotts.

"I can't accept this sir, they look far too expensive." The elder leaned forward, grasping Harry's hands in his looking deep into his eyes.

"This is a thank you, my boy, for everything." Harry witnessed the moniker again, 'the-boy-who-lived' but this time held something new, something that Master Harris feared. It was a demon of death, Voldemort. Harry initiated the break this time, glancing down at Alastair. The brown horned toad looked back. Seeing that the boy was probably tired Samual Harris reminded Harry to swing by Luxurious Lenses, his store, on the 27th.

Harry overtook by exhaustion allowed sleep to overtake him, dreaming of snakes chasing devils, later of the wonders of magic. He dreamt of his wheel of fortune until he tumbled from the heaven depicted in the card until, after an eternity, landing on a heap of balls, staring forward to a gate which stood great and noble. The area around him completely dark, vastly different from the blue atmosphere he previously left, yet despite no light source Harry could see. Below him had strange orbs, a weird green mass of spheres all around him, where the balls did not exist was void. Harry focused ahead and started striding towards the gate, desperately needing the knowledge hidden behind it, slipping over the irregular ground he dragged himself forward, to the truth that lay beyond. Harry could hear voices behind him, strange cries in a nameless tongue telling him to turn back, pleading with him to not continue down this madness. The voices would have had a better chance of persuading a mountain to move, the pleads falling upon deft ears, for curiosity had won. The doorway, shining ahead as a beacon, appeared familiar. His feet squished through the bulbs of green below him, moving closer to the gate. The journey was long until he made it close enough to make out the gate in significant detail.

It was enormous, wrapped in the same bulbs that made existence in the void. Taller than any building that Harry had ever seen. Expertly drawn in the center of the door was his tome's sigil. Harry took solace in it, a reminder of the wonderful things he had. That was until the sigil opened exposing a single eye, it's color indescribable. The eye peered into his heart, learning all he was and would be. The eye knew all, it looked into Harry's soul, his hairs stood on end.  
Trying to run found him glued, whether by dread or the terrain was anyone's guess. The eye continued to stair, judging and weighing the boy, again the ground below him swallowed his very being as he fell, a sound swam around him in a language incomprehensible to him, a maddening noise. As he fell and fell and fell the voice gained more and more volume. The fall lasted an eternity until at the end of time Harry understood, his destiny was the gate, for the gate would be his victory. He awoke, covered in sweat, throat raw, to Alastair's tongue in his ear thankful to no longer be trapped within his nightmare.  
The Wheel of Fortune.

The sun rose and set. This process repeated and repeated. Harry had already read all his new books, the book on Magic Theory twice, and already reeled in boredom. The confines of his white room being tighter around him than his cupboard. It wasn't until Doctor Thompson asked him confused why he hadn't left yet that Harry learned that all he needed to do to leave his solitary was to ask. He adventured alone on his trips after the first day and roamed the various alleys in the magical world. Today his conquest was Knockturn.

Knockturn Alley oddly saw less traffic than the other Alleyways. The street seemed to be enveloped in a constant dimness, even with the sun burning above, the road had many shadows. Compared to Diagon Alley the buildings stood reasonable, though gothic in appearance. The shops appeared as elusive as the street itself, many not bearing any information about what existed within, no windows, not even names. Hidden in the shadows he watched several people move through different doors, the sole evidence of a shop was bags full of purchases.

His people watching turned out to not benefit him as a strange humanoid walked the road. It was a cloaked figure with skin that looked almost green. It looked feminine with an enormous nose. The thing looked at him and went a large grin, revealing pointed teeth within her horrible mouth. She strode towards him, like a predator upon a wounded prey. Harry fled hearing the demonic humanoid behind him which gave off a chilling laugh, running Harry wandered into a small shop called The Starry Prophesier. Entering the room, and closing the door hard Harry took cover behind one curtain in the room.

The moments passed and his pursuer never entered. Harry breathed, his lungs burning from the lack of air. He surveyed the room and found it small, like his cupboard. He moved apart a set of shades revealing another room this one dark with a faint perfume permeating in the room. The room was devoid of humans.

As Harry entered the curtains behind him fell forming a soft wall behind him, the room only holds within it a table with a clear ball upon it. The ball was smaller than a football and appeared forged of glass. I pulled at Harry giving the desire to look, to see. He remembered his dream, of the gate of knowledge, it looking back upon him judging him, this ball was similar, oh so similar. It sat there, gleaming in the faint candlelight which barely illuminated it, calling out for him. Harry couldn't resist.  
Sitting at the table he gazed into the ball, a disjointing sense overtook him as his consciousness slipped into the serine state of shuffling tarot cards. Harry gazed into the ball and to his horror, the ball stared back. He was again in front of the gate as its eyes opened, it gave Harry a stream of knowledge, rummaging in his head, the sensation was the same as when he looked in people's eyes. Amongst the myriad of information images projected of a store and ancient runes. He gripped it hoping to gain more insight, moving in to look closer. His fear not being enough to pull him away from the future pulling him in. He was met with more flashes, a castle, a lake, loneliness, hope, a monster, a mirror, the flashes continued, growing too fast to recognize. Pain filled him and overexerted his brain, the images kept flashing and flashing, never stopping, the ball that kept his gaze not willing to let the flow stop until one final image held his full view, his card, XIII, death.

A force pulled him out, not on his own will. His mind felt as a scrambled egg ran over by a car, a woman who appeared like his precious pursuer had joined him in the room. She was short and hunched, warted with a large nose, her eyes brown as the earth and pointed and looked at him with great curiosity, but looking at her dead-on was strange, even in the low light she seemed to shimmer like aluminum foil-covered skin. She differed slightly from the one before, but she still terrified Harry. He tried to speak, but his throat dry and raw from screaming.

"Shh boy, It is all right, what did you see?" Her voice was odd to him, sounding her consonants harder than he was used to. She attempted to calm him by rubbing his back, Harry couldn't fault her for not knowing that the contact would only drive him closer to panic. Her appearance, his experience with Vernon and the adrenaline flowing through him set him off. Her hands were soft, in opposition to her gangly looking hand. He shot towards the wall, crashing away from her grip, using it as an ally backing him so that his only opponent would be on his front. He tried to breathe to calm himself 'She saw you, she knows you, eliminate her.' The voice was back pleading with him, he sprung out his wand, pointing it at the witch, 'Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra' flashes to the dream, the light, the loss. He knew those words, he recognized them well, he lived them most nights and now he knew what they did.  
The woman in front of him did not deserve to die though, she had not done him wrong. She was not the same beast as before, she had saved him. His non-wand arm jetted down to his pocket, clutching the cards he packed today, brushing his hand on the smooth container, focusing, pushing away the anger and hate. An unfamiliar person appeared where the nasty one had been before, gone was the warty woman replaced with a considerable beauty. Her hair beneath her cloak hood was a platinum blonde and her eyes were a shimmery blue, like the arctic beach crashing on the glacial shores. Harry pushed away his wand back to its holster, offering his hands up in surrender, getting mighty embarrassed for acting such a fool. The woman gazed at him, tears brimming within her crystal eyes, understanding the burden Harry was under. He rose and dusted off his robe, something he had purchased the past day so he would not be touring around in school attire, gathering his thoughts. He offered the woman a polite bow and offered his apologies. The edge of suspicion never escaping him.

"It's quite alright young man, why do you not do me a favor and sit down." She took a seat on one side of the table, and Harry sat across from her, daring to glance at the ball again despite his previous experience. Instead of the gazing ball a unique blanket lay, sealing the seeing stone from the world. The pair remained in silence, the tapping of his legs rhythmically tapping echoing. The woman watched his every move. "I am Madam Völva." Her voice sounded different to him, her accent was not English. She remained waited for his response in no external hurry.

"Harry." He responded with a quiet voice.

"What did you see Harry?" Her voice laden with concern, as if she recognized what it was like to have one's whole life play out. How could she though? How could he do anything again?

"All of it, through and through, all the way till the finish." He fished his deck out, cutting twice and drawing the card regarding it with apathy as the skeletal knight watched him over a field of bodies. Harry looked deep into her eyes, tears welling within both pairs.

She understood, they had taught her the subject, she learned how to quit seeking. When to stop looking, "You poor boy, no one should have to read their own death, you poor boy, do you know how or why?"

He stared at her in indifference, death was his end, and it appeared in the close future. "No, just soon, but be that tomorrow or ten years does it matter?" The tears disappeared, for they stood no purpose.

She merely looked at him with pity, she had been trained to stop gazing, the main problem of the crystal balls was the draw, the pull of knowledge, of going too far. He had no way of knowing, of counteracting the tug, but she thought him a genuine prodigy at the subject, as it took many years of practice to get graphic enough reading to cause his reaction. He looked away not wishing to know more, that is what got him into his current situation, he needed to learn to stop gazing. "Always remember the Wheel of Fortune young man."

That rattled him to his core, he remembered the flash, the card of ambiguity, of uncertainty. "What?" He stammered out. His head shooting an accusatory stair at her. Could she be someone who was writing his fate, how had she known his card, his future?

"The Wheel of Fortune, how the future is not set, death now does not mean that it is absolute then. The ambiguity of the future, how cause and effect can fall to randomness"

He beamed at her, was this a part of his fate, was his deck reminding him how no matter what, the future is a product of the present and can change. Had his prediction from days ago been so that at this juncture he would not suffer himself in fear and apathy? He held the death card, caressing it before placing it back within his collection, resealing his cards. They rested warm within his grip, reassuring they would always be with him. They would guide him on the correct path. The tears fell again, emotion overtaking him. Harry felt that he lived on the bar of a balance with constantly adjusting contents, teetering back and forth between madness and sadness, with few moments of peace.

"Thank you, Madam, really." He said, choking on the words, clearing his throat he spoke again, "Would you mind if I asked you a question?" She leaned back in her chair waving him to do as he wished. "Where could I find some books on ancient ruins?" He remembered back to his original vision of the day before it became too much for his mind to handle he had seen the words ancient ruins in his vision.

She looked at him with curiosity, "You look a little young to be a third year, though it would explain the divination training, yet not why you ignored all of the rules involved." She scolded him, her face losing some of its pitty and instead, turning to disappointment. "Why would you need other books? Is your schoolbook not good enough?"

"Well, I have this book, and, well, I can't read it, it's not in English. While gazing I visited a bookstore. It stood without a name and held within ancient ruins, so I thought maybe..." He trailed off not knowing what to say. Upset at himself for rambling.

"Four doors down on this side, opposite Horizont. That is where you are looking." she paused, "I wish you well young man, be careful with divination, it is fickle and uncaring. It is also the most dangerous subject that I know, you would do well to remember that," she peered at him with solemn eyes "but remember divination is not always what it seems." Her eyes soft again with the realization he was not a student. With that lesson she turned and strolled through the curtains opposite him, leaving Harry alone again. He shoved the thoughts of Death and isolation aside, instead, for the first time, being thankful for drawing his future card.

The Wheel of Fortune.


	6. Chapter Five: The Wheel of Fortune II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. We have arrived at chapter 5. There are no Horror elements in this chapter, yay. I still require a beta. As for reviews I don't care if they are saying that my work is bad, just please give me feedback. People are reading and staying around, but I don't know why.

The Wheel of Fortune.

In a stupor Harry stumbled out of the smoky room, spilling back into the shadowy streets of Knockturn Alley, for the first time fearing what he had with divination. He forced that thought aside he froze. Before he was chased to this store by a monstrous humanoid, a warted beast. Giving the street a vigilant search, he spotted no signs of the strange being, but there was an increase in foot traffic now, a modest crowd beginning to move through the thin road. Harry endeavored to merge with the masses and follow Madam Völva's instructions, finding himself before a simple unmarked brown door indistinguishable from the doors bookending it. As he detached from the current, he strode up to it hoping to find a hint of the contents, opening it, careful to not create a sound, he slipped into the unknown place of business.

It was odd entering the room as it brought into a world reminiscent of that shop so long ago. The store stood inviting with a tangible characteristic of power coursing through it, a subtle tactility, the air in the room stopping a shiver he didn't realize he had. The only noteworthy differences between this property and the one of his youth were the assortment of goods and the absence of tables. Alternatively, to stands with samples of products, this place instead housed row after row of tomes of various sizes. Harry wandered the vast collection. He ran his slender fingers across the bindings, meeting the varied sizes of the books, spanning from smaller than his finger to thicker than his hand sideways. The titles appeared individualized, Harry found no duplicates, the writings seemed too specialized for a typewriter to produce, at least the inspected scripts which gave responses to touch, every once in a while he would contact a book which held no energy, inside he would discover the traditional font of an average text, not unlike a novel from the library. Above each portion of the shelves was signing to help visitors locate the works they desired, with different genres befitting sections, with a further division by age. They posted no prices. As he scanned the numerous shelves he sought for the section on ruins, but all he found was Charms or Battle Magics or Transfiguration or Dark Arts. It wasn't until he made his way to a cramped alcove with a sun-window, which failed to light the area as it gazed upon the shady alley beyond, that he discovered a shelf with Ancient Ruins. This section was two lengths long and thus only had a single date listed, 1475.

Scanning through the books, passing his hand along as he saw many publications with Elder Futhark or Futhark in the title, which after a brief investigation was not his prized third language. He started at the oldest section and felt no call and saw no sign that the collection before him would yield a translation. That was until he found a thick book in the newer selection, despite its relatively young age it was extremely worn with a faded leather spine. It gave him a slight push when he passed it, nothing severe, but noticeable all the same. Slowly pulling the manuscript from its housing he groped the front cover, a ruff piece of raised scribbles underneath. He turned over to the cover and noted that it depicted four languages. And mottling of dark brown splashed on the face of this tome, which suggested similar stains within his cupboard. The English name read A Translation Guide to Reading Like the Rosetta Stone, which also read in two Egyptian scripts and Greek, a match for his writing minus the language which he had seen no sign of. As Harry flipped into its contents and browsed the sections an amazing experience presented itself, the book, while he read, spoke to him, mind to mind, showing him how to speak, teaching him how the voice flowed forth and sounded. Only five minutes with this work gained more than enough knowledge to overtake the Egyptian he knew. In the margin, from a previous owner, scribbles and small notes of "The combination is fish, snake, tree," or "The gas overtook the room and we retreated," resided. A journal of sorts was scratched near the back of the text, containing more writings different from those of the title proper. What person would write in a book like a journal? Harry mused. A dead one he replied to himself, found upon closing the work and again seeing the stains on the cover, without doubt, blood splatter.

He walked to the counter centered in the building where an old man was sitting. He wore a top hat and flowing red robes. In his mouth was a pipe he was smoking, held within a forest of his bushy white beard. He rested on two legs with a book in hand and shoes on the counter, his boots were made from some a reptilian animal given its large scales. Harry gently placed the tome down on the table in front of him, title up, "How much for this?"

The man perched forward grabbing the book, eyeing the name with his spectacled eyes, turning the text over in his hands giving the contents a small inspection. "Four Galleons."

Four Galleons was a lot of money, enough to cause Harry to scoff at the number, 4,000 pounds was too much for a single work. Harry would never be capable of calling the man out, for once he wished Vernon was present. He was strong and stingy with cash; he would be qualified to talk the clerk to a reasonable amount. Then why don't you just be Vernon, it wouldn't be hard. "I think not, no one shops here," He gestured to the empty room behind him, "What kind of return customer would I be if I had to give up four Galleons for such an insignificant book." Harry bluffed, pulling forth his best Vernon impression, finding it easy to say the words in a harsh and commanding way.

"This here is an enchanted book, as I am sure you know, and being a handwritten translation piece, selling this for less than 3.2 would be highway robbery against me. And apparently, boy, it isn't insignificant to you if you wish to buy it."

You could just kill him, take the tome, and leave. No one would find out, well minus the wench, but we could take care of her as easily as him. The voice propagated again, causing Harry to experience fear again. Was it the harsh action that brought it out? The voice had been under control, stopped, and now, being with magic caused its return. The pull was powerful, but his will was stronger. Pushing the hostile voice down, he looked the owner in the eyes, despite Harry's recent experience he demanded to know, so he allowed the connection to form as he puffed out his chest and started again.

"Is 3.2 as low as you can go." And with that Harry saw that the clerk needed the sale to be at least two and a half since that would gain him the the profit margin on the text to buy.

"Of course, it is." The man boldly lied against Harry that wouldn't work. Harry enjoyed using his power, why did he ever stop.

"I can give you Two Galleons, that's really pushing it. The book is not well kept and has blood splatter upon it."

The store owner laughed as he countered again, but Harry found the number he needed to hit. He had already won this encounter by knowing more than his opponent did. Vernon did install some values in his peeking from the cupboard.

The Wheel of Fortune.

Spending around two and a half thousand pounds was difficult for someone who never held money of his own, but this book was well and worth it. An Egyptian warlock named Aouaa wrote it. As interesting as that was, the text of the other writer, Sirius Black, was an exciting journal of a Cursebreaker in Upper Egypt attempting to locate a particular manuscript from a specific king rumored to reside in the Valley of the Kings, berried. His entries read like a story, in which Harry loved every moment. Harry spent the following weeks visiting stores and studying with Alastair near him, reviewing his text in between his study on language and reading Sirius's exploits. The Monday before his departure was his first instance of learning from his old friend. It was a brief section near the beginning, written only in Greek, discussing how using various catalysts would bring enchanted items different effects, with a large emphasis on blood. Though it called blood by many names, sometimes wizard blood, other times witch. The lifeblood of innocents and liars, of goblins and wyverns.

Eventually, the 27th had arrived which carried Harry to the doors of Luxurious Lenses. The shop was quaint and normal compared to the rest of Diagon Alley. As Harry entered the front door he witnessed Master Harris bent over a pair of spectacles, poking and prodding at it, mumbling in Latin throughout. Harry watched with interest as the man worked over the equipment until a smile graced his face, looking up and seeing Harry caused the man to grin wide, which Harry returned in his own reserved way.

"Welcome Harry, how have the weeks treated you." The man asked in a noninvasive way.

"They have been good, I've explored the Alleys a bunch, I think I saw a lot of kids bound for Hogwarts." He intentionally left out his jaunts into Knockturn Alley, not knowing what the kind man would think dark alley, now that Harry knew its reputation, one that didn't dissuade him from going.

"Ah yes Hogwarts, I attended there myself, I was a proud Slytherin. Maybe you can join me." Harry's smile grew at someone wants to be associated with him, a confusing but comforting thought. "But anyway, you came here for glasses, and glasses I have." Reaching below the counter he grabbed a sleeve, putting it out on the table he pulled them out. The glasses looked just like the ones he was wearing but had energy coursing through them. Not like his cards, but more akin to a magical book from the old shop. It was indifferent to the reader but still held power. Reaching down and removing his current set, he placed the fresh ones on. He still saw the same, so nothing about them changed his vision. "If you tap right there, the glasses will 'stick' to the back your ears and nose, locking them in place. I also arranged some protective enchantments on the pair."

"Wow, this is so cool," Harry exclaimed. After activating the stick feature, it amazed him how he couldn't shake the glasses. It didn't even hurt to pull them though they stayed attached through his attempt. "Thank you so much for this really, I don't know if I can thank you enough. Are you sure I can't compensate you for this?"

Master Harris laughed at him. "I get enough customers as it is, a benefit of being the best, and you are a special boy Harry, this is the least I can do, now out, I have more work to do and a boy like yourself shouldn't be cooped up inside," It was a good-natured jest, but Harry felt the rejection all the same. As he strolled back to his room to rest, he realized tomorrow was the full moon.

The Wheel of Fortune.

Harry sat awake under the light of the moon, his deck maneuvering to his hands call. Breathe and shuffle, breathe and shuffle. Cut, Cut, Shuffle. He worked into a trance with no discernible pattern, just breathing while cutting and shuffling allowing the cards to guide him. Then he flipped the three top cards.

Ace of Wands. The High Priestess. The Four of Cups.

Well, at least it wasn't all major arcana this time. Harry first analyzed the Ace of Wands. A single hand grasping onto a wand over a landscape, symbolizing a pivotal act that will lead down the path. Wands signified choices and moments of life, the suit governed action. Harry assumed this had been his decision to reply to the letter, to become his own person, to break from the mold of the Dursleys and to be free.

The High Priestess was different, a member of the major arcana, depicted by the number II. She was a regal and holy woman sitteth between pillars of black and white. Her face bore no smile and stared straight at him. She symbolized secrets that need to be understood, though she also stands in his way. Perhaps she represented the magical world, or maybe Professor Sprout, or Master Harris, what details did he need to be wary of, possibly concerning 'the-boy-who-lived'. She was a cold card to draw for his present as his spread may indicate that if he follows the way of the High Priestess it would bring about his fate.

His future was The Four of Cups, not the best card to draw. Cups represented emotion and relationships, with the four being isolation or dissatisfaction with his future relations. It could also be a longing for change, or emotional uncomfort. For entering an unknown world in hopes of a fresh start, it was not the most comforting card. Much like The Hermit he had seen The Four of Cups often in his cards. In the end, it doesn't matter, Hogwarts is only four days away.

The Wheel of Fortune.

As the sun was creeping into his white room, Harry was already up and about. Today was the day. Today Harry would set off for Hogwarts and begin his adventure in the world of magic. He scavenged the empty room and began taking inventory, inspecting under the bed and within other crevices as he looked for any belongings were sure to be forgotten. After double and then triple checking to make certain that his full ensemble was with him, he turned to Alastair. The toad's intelligent eyes looked back at him, the blank stare carrying more than it showed.

"Well, it looks like we'll be heading out," his companion stared back, the unassuming intelligence in his eyes bored into the newly found wizard. Grabbing onto his truck, he made his way from the room of the last few months. The last things packed in his chest being various books: fantasy epics, magical word theory, bestiaries, and yesterday's version of Carpe Diem Collective the second most popular wizarding outlet, one that focused more on magical happenstance than local gossip, of all the papers he tried he liked it the best.

Waving to the various doctors and nurses who had been most of his contact the last few weeks had solemn goodbyes spoken all around. The longest farewell was Doctor Thompson, his personal doctor, who had spent a great deal of time with the boy. The kind man shed tears, as he and Harry did an embrace, it was a strange sensation for the boy, he had never been hugged before. He did not have any of the feelings he had felt from Dudley during the exchanges with his parents. Harry wondered why.

As he walked the street, the beauty of the Alleys again blew him away, despite exploring the labyrinth of shops and houses he was still no closer to understanding it. Like how Intersection just so happened to cross every other alley at a right angle despite being perfectly straight, or how the entire district appeared too large to fit while having expansion charms within it.

Finding the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, he rhythmically tapped the bricks, exposing the pub to the boy. Waving to Tom, the barkeep who made more food in the month for him than the Dursleys ever did, he pulled himself through the pub. Harry wondered when Tom slept, as he seemed to always be there, tending the bar.

Exiting the pub and walking onto the streets of London, Harry took a breath of the city air, thick with smoke from the various factories and automobiles. The stark contrast between his new and old world was staggering, wondering how they managed to be separated all this time. He knew that the answer, the Statute of Security, but surely that could not account for everything. Pushing aside those thoughts, he focused on the task in front of him getting to his destination. Sticking out his wonderful partner, he called the Knights Bus. A hazy looking gentleman was his conductor for the day. The gentleman collecting his small fare for transport, he departed to Kings Cross Station.

After fifteen minutes of travel his stop arrived, the early morning not having many stops. Walking through the rail yard with various busybodies around him was hard, his slight frame and the large heavy load being caught in the flood of people around him, finding the mark depicting the location for 9 ¾ was even harder than traversing the sea. After a half an hour of searching he found it, on one pillar marking both platform 9 and platform 10 shown the sign of Hogwarts, the four animals on a shield. Remembering Professor Sprout's words, he stepped up to the wall and purposefully marched into it. Instead of feeling any resistance, he kept moving and entered the platform as if the barrier didn't exist.

The platform was much older than the station he had just left, its bricks were more faded, its tiles while cleaner was also a different material. On the tracks sat an enormous steam engine with a red and black color scheme. There were a few bodies on the platform but nowhere near what he envisioned the population of the school to be, especially given the length of the train. Entering the transportation train, he found a seat close to the back, shutting the door behind him. Harry pulled out the story he had started to read, afraid to study from his grimoire (which is what he had selected to calling his longest-held book), in public.

The novel, Voyages with Vampires, depicted Gilderoy Lockhart and his friend Vũ Kim Phú as the pair save a resort cruiser a vampire clan only known as Kuroi te, or The Black Hand, had seized. It was an amazing read, full of knowledge on vampires and some creatures which followed them. The last chapter had depicted Lockhart doing battle with a terrible foe, which all turned out to be a half-demon, half-vampire named Arita Azumi. Vũ ended the fight by finding the spell Erysipelas Concrepo and using it on the demon, making it succumb to the beyond. The spell had the minor effect of causing a large blasting sound, alerting more people to the duo's location.

Harry was drawn into the book, reading the exploits of the man amazed him, each page produced a new spell or piece of knowledge Harry never heard of, or showed a new and interesting creature, or had witty dialogue that produced a smile. The next time he looked up he noticed that he was not alone.

The Wheel of Fortune.

His compartment had added a pair of identical-looking women. Each would be considered average height for Harry's age and had immaculate black hair that went straight down. Their eyes were the most captivating part of them though, for they had a rich purple gleam to them. Looking into their eyes, Harry saw a stunning amethyst gem in their place. After an intense scan of their features, the two displayed some dissimilarities. The left one had a modest mole under her right eye, and the right one had a speckling of freckles. Both, however, were without a doubt gorgeous.

The freckled girl gave a slight cough as if waiting for something. After fleeting moments, the left one spoke. "Hello, I am Hestia, and this is my sister Flora, we are from the house, Carrow." Her voice was irritated and hard as she gave her head a slight bow.

"I'm Harry, and it is my first year here at Hogwarts. It's nice to meet you." He gave her a nod back.

"We are second years," This time Flora cut in, her sweet voice softer than her sisters, "we are in Slytherin." She sounded happy at this revelation. "What house are you looking forward too?" Her voice held a hint of an edge as if he answered wrong there would be consequences.

Harry assumed that two of the houses were Hufflepuff and Slytherin. He wondered how many existed. He assumed Professor Sprout was the head of Hufflepuff, and he liked her. On the other hand, Master Harris told him he would like Harry in Slytherin just like him. "Well, I am hoping for Slytherin like you, but I wouldn't mind going into Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout is really nice, you see." He said the last part with a rush of blood to his face.

As he continued his watch at the girls before him, they showed him a slight grin, whether for the comment or his blush stayed unknown. After a moment, Hestia gained a semblance of confusion and tilted her head. "How did you meet Professor Sprout?"

"Oh, she is the one who took me shopping."

"Why did you need help shopping, you aren't a muggleborn are you?" She said with distaste in her mouth. The goodwill he earned evaporating in an instant.

"Hestia, calm down."

"It's just a question Flora, plus, you know how our mother would feel if we associated with one."

"Well, I am an orphan." Harry decided he had enough listening to their argument, more so over him. He appreciated Flora's coming to his aid, but the act confused him about what problem existed, "I had lived in the muggle world until the good professor found me and have been living in Diagon Alley ever since. But my parents could do magic, they paid for my dues before they died." He said, defending against the notion he was born of muggles, he had seen the disdain people looked at him with when they associated him with that name, and he hoped he would make friends with the dark-haired duo in front of him.

"Oh, you poor thing." Hestia moved in to give him a small hug, Harry blushed again at being hugged by such a pretty girl. This embrace was altered from the one this morning, it gave comfort, instead of one in looming sorrow like this morning. Harry's heart fluttered in this touch; this hug was closer to what Dudley felt but still offbeat. The seconds went by and he looked to Flora, confused about why he was still in the embrace of Hestia, in her eyes he received flashes, but with great focus stopped them, after the traumatizing encounter featuring the crystal ball he was weary of looking, the thoughts in the shop, of power and control, making it worse.

As Flora was about to speak the loud cry of the train's whistle cut her off, causing Hestia to jump back to her seat, mirroring the coloration that Harry spouted, and after that, the locomotive slowly moved forward, onto the destination that left the entire train in anticipation.

To Hogwarts.

As the train continued chugging along the triplet had meaningless conversations, mostly comprising an introduction to the foreign world denied to Harry. their first encounter cut this light conversation the trio was making short. A smaller boy opened the compartment door with significant force. He was a platinum blonde with long flowing hair, knotted in the back. Besides the striking platinum hair, he also possessed stormy grey eyes. He was the epitome of what Harry imagined of when he visualized an elf, with a pointed nose and high sharp cheekbones. Dwarfing him and flanking him positioned two other boys, though they looked to be older than everyone else in the compartments and larger than all four combined. The one on the left stood taller whilst the one on the right was wider.

"Ah the Carrows, and their welcome to school snack." The boy in the middle proclaimed, taking a seat next to Flora, as Hestia was now sitting on the same side as Harry. "Father was disappointed that you two were not at Midsummer. Though it makes sense after hearing what happened to your cousin at the hand of our new Defense professor." The twins glared at the boy, Harry assumed he should as well, but stopped himself. The elf sounded cocky and proud, his eyes seemed to loom down on the whole compartment, despite only being taller than Harry.

"Is that it, Malfoy?" Hestia questioned him, the leader, though her tone voiced more submissive than usual. The tone displayed her hope the boy would leave them. He wondered how they all knew each other and despised one another. A glance at Flora saw that Hestia was not alone in her feelings.

"Actually, I think that you can help me. You see, I am looking for Potter, I hear he is going to Hogwarts this year, The Board couldn't stop talking about it."

"We have not seen a single Potter, so you can leave."

"You could help me look you know, despite your," He paused and made a face as if he just licked dung, "unpleasant family, I would appreciate the help."

In an attempt to save the pair from further abuse Harry uncharacteristically spoke up making himself a martyr for the two girls, maybe because he was talking to someone his age for once, but he wanted to protect these two. "I am a Potter." It came out stronger than he felt.

Draco for the second time acknowledged his presence. He looked over the small, frail boy with contempt. "You expect me to believe that you, a small disheveled looking thing is Harry Potter?"

"Well I am Harry Potter."

"Then show me the scar."

"Which scar." He had many.

"Which scar," He scoffed, "well Carrows it seems that I was wrong," He scowled at the two, "you could go lower. You can keep your little lying mudblood toy. Maybe you won't choke on his thick blood, though I doubt it. Come Crabbe, Goyle." The small boy twirled his cloak and stalked out of the compartment, the man on his right shutting the door behind them.

"That was amazing Harry, you showed him," Hestia said with awe in her eyes, "What scar, classic."

Flora spoke differently, "That was dangerous Harry, Draco Malfoy has a dangerous father, you don't want to get on his bad side." She warned him.

Harry merely looked at the pair in confusion, "But why was he looking for me?"

Again, Flora replied, "That is enough joking."

"But I'm not"

"Whatever."

With that, Hestia moved back to her sister and Harry went back to reading his book, mumbling an apology.

The train continued. Harry remembered the Four of Cups, and yet couldn't speak.

The next interruption introduced a duo of students, a girl, and a boy. To be fair, many pupils had shown their faces, people all the way to the size of adults had investigated their compartment only to be disappointed mumblings of Potter echoing into their compartment. This pair was unique. They both had brown hair, but that is where the similarities ended. The boy had hazel eyes, whilst the girl examined the compartment in a brownish hue. His hair was bowl-cut and strait, hers appeared a curly mess. He was pudgy against her slim form. She also had large front teeth on her curved face. "Have any of you seen a toad?" the girl inquired, her voice made Harry remember the girl from his robe fitting, Gemma Ansley, with the condescending tone she managed the question in.

As always, the confident Hestia answered, "Yes." Her voice projected full of amusement.

"Really." The boy spoke up, his face lighting up.

"Mhmm, right there." She pointed to the spot currently occupied by a caged Alastair.

"But, that's not Trevor."

"Well spotted, he is Alastair, and he is mine." Harry cut in, confused at the slow boy.

"That's rude." The bushy-haired one said to Hestia. A hard glare leveled at the girl.

"Maybe you should have specified then, hmm." Hestia teased.

"Let's go, Neville." With that the bushy brunette left, dragging the poor boy with her, his face still confused about Hestia's statement.

"She's absolutely mental, and a muggleborn to boot," Flora remarked.

"Definitely mental." Harry agreed but wondered again why being muggleborn was so bad.

The conductor announced they were on the final two hours. As Harry attempted to talk to the Carrows again, a boy with red hair interrupted them. It was not a handsome red either, but an angry orange. He barged in with no warning; he didn't stay long however just speaking one run-on sentence. "Have any of you seen Harry, oh, just kidding, you are snakes." Leaving with the same cruel expression Draco had. Sadly, his comment had taken too much out of Harry's sails, the dreaded topic of his name being brought up again left the twins sharing unimpressed faces towards Harry. Thus, Harry sat, reading as the two talked about what they looked ahead to at Hogwarts, eager to start.

Harry knew his future.

The Four of Cups.


	7. Chapter Six: The Four of Cups I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. We made it past chapter 5 woohoo. I realize we are past 43 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world. Stay safe everyone, these are hard times, stay home.

The Four of Cups.

The whistle sounded, and the train halted. The Carrows and Harry exchanged light farewells, but not to the standard that Harry hoped, fighting back tears, his images of a great friendship forming being crushed by the weight of four cups. Harry hefted down his luggage when Hestia remarked to him he should merely leave it. The Hogwarts Staff would know that it belonged to him and the trunk would be in his dorm that night. With his pointed hat upon his head he walked the train, an endeavor that took far longer than it should have, his fellow students bumped into with nary an apology. Harry just kept his head down, already wishing to be back in Diagon Alley. He missed the few relationships that he had, the bustle of the medical wing in the morning, the overflowing streets full of smiles. Here, on the train, he was pushed around, ignored, unwanted. A strange reminder of his former home life, which he had never hoped to experience again. Making his way to the platform, he surveyed the area. A bustling village surrounded the tracks, near as busy as the main strip of the alley, full of men and women watching the train, and more likely, its contents with anticipation. The sprawling town appeared old-fashioned, but also magic, rustic houses glittered around with buildings less gravity-defying than that of the alley, but still the small city hummed with the unseen power which was magic, it presented a comfortable feeling, warm and embracing. Since the sun was setting in the sky, the streets required lights, but apparently, they applied modified streetlamps with lightning from a ball of magic that emitted a radiant glow. He wondered how houses pumped water without power, as in the magical world he had never seen electricity anywhere. When a light was needed people used their wands, when something high they used their wands, technology stood still because of the ability to use a wand. Why invent a lorry when you can fly a broom?

"First Years, First Years over here." Harry turned to search for the source of the sound, which resonated as a deep and powerful voice. A bass singer would be jealous of the notes the man achieved. Near an outdoor stairwell stood a giant of a man. That was not hyperbole. The man reached just under three meters tall, almost as high as the surrounding lamppost. He looked like a mountain man, his hair going down his back, his curly beard carrying on for many feet in all directions, comparing this man's size to a lorry would not be unfounded. Harry searched for the comfort of the regular, turning to locate Hestia and Flora only to notice them heading the other way. He spotted them entering a carriage pulled by a strange-looking black horse with wings. A horrifying creature that resembled bones with a thin skin cover. The twins, to his regret, did not look for him.

The crowd in front of Harry shuffled forward. He went with it, hoping not to be a dinner for the great wild man. They climbed up a set of very slippery stairs with no handrails cut from the land itself, a massive stone expanse on their left, the lack of traction causing some people to stumble. The assembly continued the treacherous walk until the mass reached the apex of the hill they stood atop. A few of the students had their hands on their legs, breathing heavily from the trek they just completed. Then the group moved down, further and further down, the slick mossy floor beneath them causing all to move slow and deliberate, out some ways, near the bottom of the natural stair, a large mass of black water stretched, giving off a foreboding sense of the unknown, it gave off a powerful sensation, with many small rowboats on its bank. The clear sky above was visible upon the surface of the expense as if the universe blanketed the boats on the shore. As they continued moving Harry's skin tingled, looking ahead he saw more, something that before was invisible to his eyes. Bordering the lake, reaching over it at times, was a glorious stone keep. It possessed tall towers and massive buildings, each one lit up in yellow light. It was gothic, matching the vast expanse of forest stretching beyond. Harry stopped and stared at the beauty and power this building projected. He remembered how he had viewed Gringotts the month previous, deciding he should have taken the bet he had generated, as the castle Hogwarts was by far more beautiful and majestic than any of the halls of Gringotts. Harry was not alone as the first year's mouths gaped at the sight.

"C'mon first years, keep up." The gigantic man shouted, vibrating the very steps the children walked upon, "We're a'most there." Collectively the first years began the march down being led to a docking station on the shore of the massive lake, with more than a handful of boats shaped like rowboats but without rows, and appeared large enough to seat eight people comfortably, a far cry from the tiny things they looked from the hill. "A'right, no more than four to a boat now, and be sure to mind your head over there." His kite of a hand stretched out to an overhang which held a collection of stalagmites hanging from it and a draping plant, not unlike a curtain. The students started sitting in the boats, most choosing to do so with friends they made on the train, Harry was not that lucky. He sat with a group of three boys. Each introduced themselves, they were Justin, Ernie (you can call me Macmillan), and Terry. He offered himself as Harry and the four talked about how excited they were. Terry and Justin started in a compartment together, and later Ernie joined them. The three bonded over a mutual love of sports, though different games for each boy. Harry felt his opportunity of friendship sinking faster than the titanic, his inability to connect with his peers squishing him of emotion.

They docked after the rough ride through the cavern, everyone got out and collected their bearing's in the underground harbor, which was their destination, through the stalagmite cave and beyond. The giant, after making sure each person was standing, started walking up more stairs. A groan sounded from a substantial portion of the group. The wild man stopped and waved for everyone to follow. Climbing a spiral stair led them to a huge oaken door that the giant pushed open with ease, allowing the crowd to walk into a magnificent hall.

The entrance had two separate enormous door sets, not including the one they previously exited, as well as two grand staircases one going up, one going down. The stair going up had four tall hourglasses flanking it. From left to right they were red, blue, yellow, and green. The giant then wished everyone luck and walk up the stairs, leaving the bumble of children alone and unsupervised. Harry stood with the boys he had been on the boat with, pretending to be part of a group as the sounds of delightful conversation and petty arguing overtook the hall. Until a regal woman entered from the next level.

She was an older woman with thin lips and a wrinkled face, but they were tight wrinkles not droopy. Her eyes were hiding behind thick square glasses and atop her head was a hat that crooked to the side. Her robes were an emerald color. Maybe an homage to the green hourglass? She cleared her voice and moved down the steps with a grace belonging to someone much younger, despite how light the footsteps looked they echoed in the now silent hall. "Hello students, I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Transfiguration Head." She paused and surveyed the group. "Today you shall begin your first year at Hogwarts, the finest school in all the world." She let the statement hang over the room, brimming with pride. "Now, we will head into the Great Hall to be sorted and to start the feast. The sorter will describe the houses so pay attention to his words, for they will decide your fate for the next seven years of your lives, perhaps further."

"So, we don't have to fight a troll." The orange-haired boy yelled out. He looked down, his cheeks reddening at the glare that he received, the teacher's eye looking down on him hard and vicious.

"No, you don't. As I was saying your house should be like your family, and at Hogwarts the most respectable school in the world we also would like to know which family is the best, in the school." She added the last part with haste as if they could misinterpret it. She then held her arms out to display the hourglasses on either side of the stairwell, "These glasses keep track of house points. Things of merit gain points. Things of consequence lose them. At the end of the year the house with the most points gains the house cup, which carries with it privileges such as priority on scheduling for house events and an overall bump of 3% to all of your final scores." Chatter built up in the hall again after that announcement. "In addition," she started, calming the group down again, "the student who gains the most house points in each year receives another 2% and will have this merit noted on transcripts. Now, let us enter the Great Hall and get you all sorted." The surprisingly springy professor strolled through the students without another word and walked to the second biggest set of double doors.

She tapped her wand on the massive gates, wide enough for the train to penetrate, causing them to swing open revealing another spectacular room. It was the most magnificent thing Harry had ever been in, with stained glass windows stretching many meters high. The long hall housed five long tables, four of them housing students, each sat one of the four colors on their own, completely segregated, the last table hosted many regal-looking figures, as well as the giant on the far end. Directly in front, centered in the room, positioned before a throne-like chair, with a man who seemed older than Mister Olivander and who possessed a beard longer than the giant's hair, was a simple three-legged stool with a hat on it. As he followed one window up, Harry saw the sky, as the ceiling opened into the world beyond letting it breathe on the inside. At the master table Harry recognized Quirrell, Sprout, and Fillius. His former tour guide gave him a cheerful wave which he returned, blushing at the attention he gained for it. Getting lost in the splendor he bumped into the boy in front of him. They all seemed to have stopped, and McGonagall was standing next to the hat, which made shapes, on its own.

Then it sang.

Its words rhymed as the hat projected its voice over the hall. It spoke of its appearance and general intelligence. Of its superiority. Then the animated fabric described the houses.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

With its final verse, it wrapped up its song.

After the male voice stopped singing clapping broke out over the hall. Wasting no time, after the applause finished, Professor McGonagall shouted out a name. "Hannah Abbot." With that, the sorting began. After the girl walked up, took off her cap, with Professor McGonagall putting on the talking one, the assembly sat in anticipation. After a few moments, less than 15 seconds, it yelled out Hufflepuff. She went to the table on Harry's right, which was standing up and applauding. This would take forever if this happens every sorting as roughly fifty students were in waiting. Which it did. Harry stood in boredom as person after person went up to find their new family.

All the while Harry wished to see the house he belonged to, but he didn't know if he could be sorted. He wasn't brave, nor loyal, nor witty, nor cunning. But he supposed that real friends sounded nice. "Harry Potter." The previously applauding room became silent, a pin could drop and the echo would persist for eternity. He gained tunnel vision to the seat and ambled, not having to fight past anyone as most of the children had been sorted before him. Harry watched people strain their necks in his peripheral sight to look at him. A slight buzz of gossip arose. He focused on the stool which behind it bore an ancient man with kind blue eyes, not unlike a sapphire. His robes were purple with actual twinkling stars on them, more dazzling than the ones in the sky. He smiled at Harry and the pressure immediately lifted.

Harry turned to face the school, which looked back with anticipation as he removed his hat and sat down. Then he felt it on his head, the hat falling over his eyes, blinding him to the world, trapping him in his thoughts. Then something entered his head, like when he witnessed what people did, but different, as if he was giving someone that instead. "Hmm, interesting, difficult, very difficult." The hat spoke, but not out loud, but within. Like an itch within his head. "You have quite the mind in you Mr. Potter, but where to place you." He remained silent to the hat's query; it knew all the answers to its questions. "You are quite right; I do know the answers. Which makes this tough. You've experienced hard work, but dislike it, you are brilliant and a brilliant study, but shun the results, you are courageous but cannot see that, and you have an ambition that you reject. You are a walking contradiction and thus are so troublesome to sort."

Harry let the hat go. It saw the truth, hiding facts would not work, and conversing would achieve nothing. "That is a Ravenclaw tendency you know, working that out," the hat pondered over its statement, "but you would reject them if I put you there, you would become isolated." It stopped again. The pair sat in silence as Harry's mind was open for his audience of one to witness, "I think Slytherin should be your home, for they would help you grow." A wave of euphoria hit on that, that was Master Harris's house, the house of the Carrows, the house of friends. "Very well then, SLYTHERIN." The word echoed in and out of his head, staying in the hall, reverberating on its walls.

He did not hear applause.

McGonagall removed the hat. No one cheered.

He almost cried, even now he was not accepted, coming to a fresh world changed nothing, he was still a useless boy meant for the cupboard.

Until a faint patter arose behind him, the old man stood from his throne with a large smile upon his face and applauded, alone in the entire hall, for the boy, then Sprout joined, and Quirrell, looking to the Slytherin table showed the Carrow's giving him courteous looks and clapping, the rest joining with them till the hall filled with cheering, not only his house but by all the houses. As tears started moving down his face as he moved to the table, Happy to feel accepted for once in his life.

Take that Four of Cups.

Maneuvering to the table, down the small stairs which led to the sorting area. His first thought to sit with the Carrow twins, as they were familiar, lasted until he saw them surrounded. He could possibly squeeze in, though they would probably consider it rude. As he moved further down the table he spotted people who had been sorted with him, half a gaggle of girls, the other a gang of guys. They all sat on the far end of the table, behind Harry Francis Prewitt was being sorted, causing Harry to have trek all the way down. By the time he made it to his seat, Hufflepuff sounded. He sat next to a bay who introduced himself as Theodore Nott, as opposed to the rude elven boy from the train.

Theodore Nott was definitely someone commonly described as attractive. He had crisp brown hair and stunning hazel eyes. His face appeared hard, but not rough, with shoulders which would broaden into a large chested powerful man. Harry introduced himself to a resounding "We Know," which was not at all strange given how he was just sorted. The group watched with a brief conversation as the sorting continued. Harry found it odd how other houses seemed to get a larger number of students, considering how since his name sounded no one else went to Slytherin. It took until the last person, Blaise Zabini, to get another member. As he looked down the table it seemed less crowded than the others. The groups around the hall had burst into many quiet conversations as if everyone was waiting for something, then the moment Blaise sat down, the elderly man who clapped for him stood. His robes glistening as much as his eyes.

"Welcome, Welcome all." His voice resonated, powerful but kind. He sounded as a professionally trained singer, and he delivered as if an entire band stood in front of him. "Another year at Hogwarts, yet, it still feels new." He spoke slowly as if every moment was dear to him. The aged man looked off until Professor McGonagall tugged on his robe with a glare. "Sorry about that, I was remembering my first day and my sorting, which no, was not performed by the founders." His eyes shown full of mirth as he launched a false glare at the Gryffindor table. Laughter sounded throughout the hall. "Now, as I am sure we are all very hungry, despite our school being located in Scotland." Various people chucked around the chamber thou, not as many as before, the loudest amongst them being Fillius. Professor McGonagall continued her glare. The old man, while looking around the room, acknowledged her murderous look and held up his arms in mock surrender. "I shall introduce myself, I am Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of this amazing school, and whilst I only teach one course, I wish for you all to know that my door is always open. Finally, we must always stick to tradition so: Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak." As he finished the words, a feast appeared on every table. He smiled at the room and sat on his way down taking a sizeable chunk of a blue pie, seemingly not getting the rules about dinner before sweets...

Harry looked at the cornucopia in front of him. Assembled before him was an extensive selection of meats, stews, and casseroles. Reaching out he began adding the freshly prepared food to his plate, weary that someone would yell at him, though it never came. He started to eat, savoring every precious bite, carefully using utensils as he had learned during his stay in the alley. As he looked up, he noticed that the group of boys surrounding him were not as solitary as Harry. They laughed and bantered within the gathering as if they had been long time friends, even the girls sitting a few seats down were engaged in their conversation. The strangest part was the groups formed independently and yet had merged perfectly, as if they knew how many would be sorted. It was odd as their table appeared the only one with such a separation, the rest having clumps of students all interchangeably sat with gender.

"So, you were not lying on the train, I guess I owe those bloodsuckers an apology, names Draco Malfoy." The petite boy said over the chatty hall, his voice sounding practiced. Harry pushed down his anger at the probable insult to the twins he had spent so much of the day with despite not being friends.

"I'm Harry Potter." He replied in his soft voice.

"Ya, sorry for not believing you and all, no hard feeling right."

Worm, this disgusting leech, this horrible beast should be put down right now, take your knife and end him. "Ya, it is ok. That happens more than you would think."

"Names Blaise Zabini." Harry studied the new boy. His voice sounded quite effeminate, matching his general appearance. One would call him pretty, even. He was a dark boy with chestnut eyes and long straight black hair.

"Harry Potter."

"I know that it's hard to not know that you are Harry Potter." He replied, giving Draco a loathing glance.

"Oh, you must have paid fantastic attention to the sorting then, to be honest, I forgot almost everyone's names while they were sorted, even yours." Harry attempted to joke.

The boy's eyes narrowed in a glare, and he turned away from Harry, instead, conversating with Draco. Was he offended?

"So, Potter, where have you been all of these years? I read your last one, it was good." Theodore spoke to him with a bit of awe in his eyes. Read his last what?

"I don't exactly understand what you mean?" Harry questioned.

"Who do you live with? It never really says."

"Oh, I lived with Vernon and Petunia."

"Who?"

"Vernon and Petunia, my aunt and uncle." The words went against his years of training, but he needed it to explain to his fellow Slytherins. A glance around showed Harry as the object of attention to his fellow first years. Though not the twins, they held conversation elsewhere.

"What family were they." It was a girl who asked that she was pretty, except for her upturned nose.

"The Dursley's?"

"I don't know that family." Theodore entered again.

"Oh, they are, how did Professor Sprout say it, muggles." Silence hung over the table until Theodore laughed loudly.

"That's funny Potter, that is funny." They kept calling him Potter, maybe he should call them by their last names. Harry gave a slight smile, not knowing the reason for his laughter, but happy he had brought joy to someone. A glancing investigation revealed Draco and his followers giggling as well, and most of the ladies. In fact, the only members not smiling were Blaise and a blonde and brunette female pair. The three looked at Harry with abhorrence. Harry just smiled into his food, happy to eat with his new family.

Take that Four of Cups.

After the entire hall had seemed to eat their fill and dissolve into talking about the upcoming classes or what they did over the summer Dumbledore rose again. A slight wave washed over him as the chamber focused on the ancient man. "Yes, Yes, now that everyone has eaten their fill, we can officially begin the year. And what would the year's start be without rules?" He gave an enormous grin at that. The far table gave a collective groan.

"Now, as I must mention every year, the forbidden forest is, as its name describes, forbidden. Unless you wish to face death at the hands of a XXXXX beast, you shall not stray without the aid of a teacher." Despite the joking nature of the sentences start, he became serious at the end, "To add to that we are doing a bit of magical research in the 3rd-floor corridor on the right-hand side of the grand stairwell, thus it is out of bounds, for if you are there without teachers aid, well, that is a folly I wish upon no one." He was somber, his gaze lingering longer on the Gryffindors again. "As a reminder, magic should be performed in the classroom only, we have many unused rooms if one wishes to lay ownership to one abandoned classroom be my guest, but please be mindful of others. And finally, to end on a high note it seems that all house teams wish to have Quidditch tryouts two weeks from today, we have assigned the pitch to the first day of the week starting with Gryffindor and moving across the hall. All other clubs will have notices in the Entry Hall for sign-ups, I myself am looking forward to Professor Flitwick's Dueling Club. Now off to bed everyone, after the school song."

Harry did not understand what the school song was, he didn't know he needed to memorize it. Until the chamber inflated with the tune, and the words and melody entered his head, it was strange, he felt if he tried he could stop it, by why should he, it was just a harmless tune. He smiled along with everyone else as the song swelled in the hall. There was a power to the music, a beat that brought hope with it. He swayed and sang, negative thoughts seemed to vanish from him as he chanted the wonderful number.

"Ah, music, magic old as time." The headmaster spoke out, a shimmer of tears upon his face. Harry had to agree.

The tables rose, the center aisle first with Ravenclaw being the first out, then Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor, and last, Slytherin. The group walked together with some minor conversation, the older students leading the way. When they made it back into the entrance hall the older Slytherins all took off down the stairs, leaving only the first years and a single pair of students, one boy, and one girl.

"Welcome to Slytherin everyone, you did it, you got the best house." The girl spoke up, prompting a cheer by the group she was escorting. "Now, as most of you already know, I am Gemma Farley and that is Damian Cunningham. We are the two fifth-year prefects." She was beaming with pride at that. "Now, the Slytherin common room is located on the second sublevel of Hogwarts, now follow close as I will show you the most direct route." The pair of students started maneuvering the castle like the back of their hand, going through long empty hallways and down dank staircases. As they were going down one such hallway one girl in the group screamed. Looking towards her saw the culprit for her action. Harry, along with a few others, joined.

Before the girl was a translucent man, his body was all grayscale, even the blood dripping from his abdomen that floated up into the room as a dissipating mist when contacting a solid surface. He wore a wig and had a large mustache. And a sword that dripped similarly. He sniffed the air, "New Blood, make us proud." He then entered the wall and leave the room.

"Well, that was the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost. Don't worry, he can't harm anyone." She spoke, calming down the assembly. Harry wasn't sure about that. As translucent as the ghost looked, his sword appeared deadly.

The group continued, Harry almost slipped on the spot where the spirit had been moments before, looking down displayed a patch of blood below his foot. The cluster settled on an unassuming bit of wall after a few more moments of travel. "Ambition." The male of the duo talked his voice even. Turning to the crowd he spoke again, "Our common room is password protected, in addition to this only Slytherins are allowed to know its location or its password, Balor greets you if you are the reason someone finds out both. Curfew is at 8 o'clock for you folk first semester, and students can leave the common room after six in the morning, no earlier." As he spoke, the wall behind him faded into a door. He opened it into a beautiful and large room with an ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The room had a bit of a green tint to it, walking into the room saw fishes swimming above the group, it appeared the common room was under the lake.

After letting the crowd gape at the room, Gemma spoke again. "Professor Snape will hand timetables out at breakfast tomorrow, there will be the other school rules on the back of it, and a map with your marked classrooms, wouldn't want anyone to be late now, would we. The school classes don't start until Tuesday to allow everyone to find where their classroom locations. Questions?"

The silence answered her question. "All right, girls up, boys down. Each room has randomly picked pairs. Changes you want to make may be submitted after a month. Now, off to bed." She spoke, and the groups walked to their corresponding staircases.

The first rooms they passed housed older students' names on the front. They followed Damian, taking a right at the first intersection showing doors on both sides. The first read Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, the two smiling, the second displayed Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle. The last room was for Harry Potter and Vincent Crabbe. Wishing everyone goodnight, each pair entered their room. It was when they had invaded the room, he realized that he never had talked to Crabbe, and Crabbe hadn't tried talking to him. When Harry tried starting up conversation Crabbe moved to the bathroom, after waiting Harry did the same. By the time he left the loo, Crabbe was sleeping. Harry, whilst trying to do the same, was introduced to a loud snoring beast. He finished his day making no true friends. With the Carrow twins being his last hope.

Curse the Four of Cups.

The next day started as the previous day ended, with his roommate pretending that he didn't exist. Harry awoke later than normal because of the interminable day that preceded it, and the loud sleeping situation. As a result, he sat in his bed, with no light, only holding his wand. For the hour until six he attempted the 'Lumos' charm from his textbook, a simple spell the book had said, very easy to do. Yet despite that nothing, no glow appeared. When it was six, he dressed and waited in bed, waiting for Crabbe to wake up. When the boy stirred, his wand sprouting out noise at half-past six, Harry tried to converse, voicing out a morning greeting.

The bigger boy just ignored Harry, going to the bathroom with his clothes. When he had finished his business, he left the bedroom forgetting Harry alone again. Harry, after a moment, followed him, working to the common room he witnessed the first years moving out, leaving only him behind. Picking up his pace he quickly made it to the assembly, following in step behind them all, but never a part of the collection. In front of him, they talked about the classes they were about to do, how it would compare to what they knew from prior learning, which teachers they would like the most. The entire trip to the Great Hall, Harry said nothing. In the Great Hall they sat as a group, Nott and Malfoy chatted about some event their dads were doing together with the three other boys listening with excitement. Harry, no matter how hard he tried, obtaining no entertainment in their boasting contest. He looked at the ladies sitting a few seats down and discovered a majority of them leaning in as well, again it was the two girls who had glared at him the previous meal who had no concern in the current conversation, instead, talking to each other. Perhaps they discussed an enjoyable subject, more than how the head of what not was visiting Malfoys house. He would most likely agree, as he would have found staring at the stairs of his youth more interesting. It was then he was kicked in the shin, looking up at his assailant, retreating inward he saw the dark-skinned boy glaring at him.

"Don't stare at people, it's rude." Blaise hushed his tone such that the other boys couldn't hear it over their obnoxious drabble.

"Sorry," Harry said, ducking his head in shame. This only irritated Zabini more. Harry was about to apologize when a swooping figure appeared behind Zabini. The man had moved silently, with ease of moment expected from a practiced dancer. The man stood short and pale. His eyes laid deep inside his head, and his lips thin as a line. The man's nose was enormous and drooped over his nostrils, giving him a bird beak appearance. His hair sat shoulder-length, shiny, and hung all around his face, framing it. He took his arm from within his cloak and gave Zabini a paper, then he took off down the table his wrap burrowing behind him, with his grace added to it he was like a bat in flight. He made the round to Harry.

The two made eye contact, and something strange happened. Harry sensed two emotions entangled with each other, remorse and resentment. Then nothing. From the corner of the man's eye, Harry saw a tear form. Then he gave Harry a piece of paper, revealing his schedule. As the man started walking away Harry shouted a thank you after him. He stopped and looked back wide-eyed before continuing out of the Great Hall.

"Why would you thank him for doing his job?" Nott questioned.

"Dunno felt like the right thing to do," Harry said, looking down at his plate of half-eaten food, deciding he was no longer hungry.

"Whatever. Say I'm gonna explore the castle and look for the classrooms. Who wants to come?"

"I have to write father."

"Same with mother."

"I'm going with Draco."

"Me too."

"I'll come with you." Harry finally spoke.

Nott appeared uneasy at the prospect but traveled with Harry all the same. As the boys split in the Entrance Hall, Harry and Nott walked to the Grand Stairwell. It was an exceptional expanse, with a jigsaw of stairs moving, twisting, turning, expanding, shrinking.

"Well, should we start with Monday," Harry suggested.

"Sure, why not, let's see, Charms is on the second floor." As the two walked up the stair's others shifted. Following the provided steps, they had made it to an opening with a large two on the mouth. The boys wandered in silence, bumbling through the hallways and getting twisted around. It was a painting on the wall that solved their problems, a Sir Anthony, escorting them to the correct room. Once walking back and forth from the stairs to the room a few times the pair was confident they could repeat it, focusing on transfiguration which was their next class, and located on the ground floor.

The day continued similarly. Throughout it the pair talked more, laughing at the absurd things they found, even stumbling into a wall that was not a wall. They laughed and jested at painting, even had a chat with an eccentric bathroom ghost. The pair had even skipped lunch. As dinner approached, they began the trek back.

"So, Potter. Who did you really grow up with because I have not seen you anywhere?"

"Well, I wasn't lying, I grew up with my aunt and uncle."

"I thought your dad was an only child."

"I don't know if he was, I grew up with my Mums."

"You grew up with muggles?" His voice carried shock.

"Ya." Harry was meek with his response.

"Let me get this straight, your mom was a mudblood, and muggles raised you. You are essentially a mudblood yourself." He sneered at Harry. The kind boy of the last hours disappeared. In his place stood an angry wolf. Harry shrank back. "You had me tricked Potter, not that I expected better from one of your kind, filthy no matter what you have done, or maybe that's why you did it." Despite the Great Hall not being far away, Nott put a lot of space between the two of them, leaving Harry alone again.

Following behind him, they entered the hall full of laughter and a tasty aroma. As Harry walked to his normal seat Nott glared at him. "That spot is taken." Harry sat further down the table, seated by himself, lightly picking over the food in front of him, never looking down the table. Another silent proceeding followed until sleep. Harry had brought out his book, holding it close to his chest, a single tear escaping his normally blank face.

The Four of Cups.


	8. Chapter 7: The Four of Cups II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. Two chapters ago (I write two chapters ahead) I doubled my reviews for the story over 2 days, and that was a special feeling. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I realize we are past 48 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world. I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Sorry, this chapter is a little shorter.
> 
> Note again, I like having Harry's grandparents be Dorea and Charlus.

The Four of Cups.

The next morning began as the day prior, minus a few details. Harry's face remained wetted with tears, and he journeyed as the lone Slytherin first year to breakfast.

Tuesday's were strange for on his class schedule, as the day started later than most of the other days. Tuesday and Wednesday stood apart as oddballs where instead of starting at eight in the morning they began at ten. This weird schedule stemmed from the bane of a consistent sleeping plan, Astrology. The session began at ten at night for the first year Slytherins and continued till midnight when the fresh NEWT students took it according to a passing sixth year student. Despite the interminable day. However, Harry, already up and ready at five in the morning and dressed and prepared by six, the conditioning from his earlier lifestyle hard to break, was used to long days.

Harry walked in his isolation, the dank and cold halls of the dungeons looming around, moisture congregating along and smelling of an unseen mold. Despite the heavy traffic present on his path, many of the rooms on the journey from his common room to the Great Hall were unkempt and unsanitary. After taking the final stair to the Entry Hall he saw a plethora of older students chatting with members of opposite houses, embracing each other and talking in hushed tones. The room felt like an important political ball, with less formal attire, with many of the group dancing around in strange courtship dances, full of blushing and teasing. He heard many mentions of Hogsmeade, and many more answers to said question, not all closing in smiles, most concluding with held back tears.

Another spectral being floated through the room, this one much less frightening than the Barron. It was a man wearing a robe that looked suited for a monk, being large in stature. He seemed to be a holy man, with a cross proudly displayed upon his chest. This was strange. What he had gathered from how the Dursleys had described the church, they despised magic and saw it as a path to hell. To make matters stranger, if a religious man was a ghost, did that mean that the Christian God was, in fact, the true God?

No one else in the hall seemed to regard the spirit, but his curiosity overcame Harry, never mind how the reminder of the sun had always warned of using cation in situations such as these. He approached the large spirit, who was examining the children like Harry before. As the boy came closer, an odd event began originating. The grey's that formed his coloring scheme separated, developing into more diverse hues. His flesh gained color in the same fashion. Startled the dead monk peered around the chamber with concern, and some fear. Then he gazed at Harry. His eyes swelled and his expression became engulfed with hysteria. He gawked at Harry unable to comprehend what he saw; a stare Harry wore looking at Vernon in his rage. The hall around the pair proceeded as normal and Harry maintained his march forward. Suddenly, one child under the monk moved, when passing under the robe it shifted with the brush, the boy swiped at his head, as if scratching an itch. The monk turned to flee, hysteria in his face, though his voice not producing a sound. His flight through the wall was blocked, bouncing from the surface, his fear magnifying at that action until, he retreated up the main staircase into the deeper part of the castle.

In the Hall no one acted as anything occurred, a glance about showed him that no one noticed the bizarre encounter.

Harry shook off the unusual happening of the last few minutes, eager to eat for the day, the opportunity of receiving food a recent one, and his appetite grew immensely since his days of care in the medical center. The Great Hall's doors were wide open, extensive enough to fit an elephant through with room to spare and entered the glorious room. The unmasked sky above appeared a slight overcast with the sun just beginning to ascend. He turned left, away from the empty Gryffindor table, before the rambunctious Hufflepuff table abundant with joy and laughs, past the Ravenclaw table full of warm smiles and to his table, the table of his house.

It was virtually barren, with only a few solitary members sitting around. From the modest fragment of meals he attended, he made some observations about behavior at this table. First, the more prominent people perched near the end of the hall, as if saying they are proximate to the educators. The current head boy was a Slytherin, and his fellow prefect sat straight across from him at every meal they attended.

Harry remained at the edge of the table, as near the entryway as possible, back to the entryway.

He loaded his plate with a mixture of eggs, potatoes, and pastries in disinterest, still in disbelief that he could eat food with others, that he didn't even need to prepare it himself. He sat, crunching away at the foods, going so far as grabbing a sausage link. While he ate the room trickled and filled with members of various houses, the Gryffindor's finally entering. A pair of students who also entered did not escape his notice, despite facing away he knew the voices, or voice, as Hestia's warm laugh saturated the hall. The twins looked just as they had the preceding day, a regal set, with the tender smile of Hestia and the serious look of Flora. That was until Hestia saw him staring. Her grin dipped, Harry turned from the two students. If he continued to watch her beam drop, he would cry there in the hall. That is something that no one wanted. When the twins sat Harry technicality he was sitting next to Hestia, though that was only because of the lack of other first years to fit the space between them.

He finished his food without a word, leaving the magnificent room and walking to the stairs to escape to the library for a few hours. The steps of the Grand Staircase presented him with the path to the library. A true wonder to behold, spanning an entire tower from the ground floor to the carapace, rumor said the home of Hogwarts's books to be even larger, from conversations he had overheard a restricted section existed below his feet extending beyond the catacombs of the ancient wizards buried beneath Hogwarts, deeper than even the Black Lake's lowest point, full of knowledge that students never should see, or perhaps even the living.

Harry was content to the first floor, passing Madam Pince, a stern-looking woman who was always engorging herself on a book. While exploring the maze of paper and binding Harry overheard a student say she was attempting to read the library's full roster, a comment which caused Harry to scoff. A hundred lifetimes would pass before the books were all studied. He browsed the texts, skimming his fingers along the spines, wandering through sections on Transfiguration, Charms, The Dark Arts, Herbology, and endless more. The tomes of the library held more topics within then the Vatican had works. It always saddened Harry that he found nothing similar to his grimoire, never feeling a spark to read, never sensing the connection. Working through the archives he picked a work that shared a title with one referenced in his required Transfiguration text, the grabbed book being about theory, and cracked the volume at one of the many tables scattered about the chamber.

Like every other book he had read, it spoke of vague concepts such as willpower and concentration. It made equations with no basis, no derivations, as if people just made the stuff up to explain how the magic worked rather than by finding the basic rules of magic and building upon them. In terms of Chemistry it reminded him of living only in the macro-world, never falling into the micro. This lead Harry down a rabbit hole of going to reference after reference to find where the first equation of the book had come from, he was on his 4th work when he noticed the time, having only fifteen minutes to get to his first course, The Preservation against the Darker Aspects of Magic. After hefting the book's back, he took off in a run, hoping not to arrive at his first class on magic late.

The Four of Cups.

He was not late. Harry had arrived just before the clock hit ten, taking a seat in the back of the room, the odd number of students making it, so he was alone in his spot. Not that this was new. The class flooded his eyes with a sea of green and silver and yellow and black. From a side door the professor appeared. He was easily recognizable to the boy. He was a youthful man with hazel eyes clad in a purple turban. Wearing a tight smile across his face and a strange-looking tome in his off-hand, a strange symbol etched on the cover unknown to Harry, placing it on his desk he leaned against it to look around the room, weighing the group, after the impromptu staring session he pulled out a clipboard.

"Welcome to your first day of classes in your first class ever at Hogwarts," He looked around the room wistfully, "I remember my first day, I was a Ravenclaw myself, you know, so you will only gain the best tutelage on this subject." A few of the students gave loud laughs at this, that list included most of his fellow housemates, only he and Moon absent from the jest, "Now, I will teach you," he read from his sheet of paper, "Preservation against the Darker Aspects of Magic, what a mouthful," he cracked a full grin, "in my time we just called it Defense Against the Dark Arts, much shorter." He joked again to the glee of the group. "Now, we must take role-call, so we make sure we have no lost lambs."

The professor sounded off names in alphabetical order, sounds of here peppered around the room. Then he asked for Harry. He replied with a horse here; the noise reverberating ever so slightly in the quiet room. To that, much of the class turned around to bore at him, the Slytherins with contempt and the Hufflepuffs with fear, the room whispered to each other as Harry sank into his seat, wishing everyone would stop. The professor granted his wish as he continued role, giving the children something else to focus on, the brief attention spans not allowing them to continue watching him as a show. Harry was already near tears. Why was he treated like this? Why was he alone? What had he done wrong?

The professor finished his class role-call, placing down the clipboard and pulling out his wand. With a whisper, he pulled a wheeled chalkboard to his person without moving an inch. When he wrote on the board, the whole assembly groaned, all because of a single word, Syllabus.

What followed comprised a one-hour seminar devoted to discussing what topics his class covered, focusing primarily on the principles of dark magic and its combatants and dark creatures. He also discussed how they would do theory most often all year, but, if practical lessons occurred, they happened on Tuesday. They formed double blocks for practicals in all classes, but they would not be having that for a few weeks as a firm basis in charms is needed to go into detail. Meaning the weeks leading up to those days would hold lectures on magical creatures that were considered dark. The entire time splashing in lines that caused a percentage of the group to laugh, bringing cheer to every face at least once, excluding Harry, for nothing could bring him from his current depression. Professor Quirrell let them go after only an hour, saying they needed their first charms class before they could get into most of the subject.

Many students were out the door, but since their next class was after lunch Harry was in no rush, packing his bag with the unused items, careful that he organized it well. He saw a shadow fall onto his desk as the professor stared down on him, a smile that went to his eyes upon his face.

"So, Mister Potter how do you think I did today?" He asked.

"I think you did wonderful, sir," Harry answered not meeting the man's eyes, remembering how last time he got accused of something for it. The fear and anger held within those eyes, which presently held kindness, Harry wished to never meet again, more so knowing this man had defeated vampires. If Gilderoy Lockhart had taught him anything it amounted to we feared vampires for a reason and, more frightening, someone capable of defeating one.

"Is that what you actually think? Or are you just saying that?" His tone was kind and bouncing. He never sounded serious, even when teaching.

"I think you did good professor, you sounded like you knew a lot about this stuff, and you seemed to enjoy it too." Harry blushed as he added, "I think that is very important in a teacher." He remembered Mrs. Carlson and shuddered as if a cool breeze hit.

"You don't think I overdid the jokes?"

"No sir, it looked like everyone liked them lots."

"But not you." Quirrell didn't ask a question.

"I didn't understand them, sir, I don't exactly get all the jokes." He looked at his hands. Twirling his fingers. Harry lied, the joke about how messing about in class would lead to detention until they spouted a beard longer than Headmaster Dumbledore's was funny. However, not enough to break his face.

"You know Mister Potter; I never caught why you were with Professor Sprout that day." He said on a random tangent.

"Oh, she was just helping me shop for school." He replied with an enormous smile. His experience with her was the happiest that he ever had.

"Why didn't your guardians?"

"Oh, umm," he stopped wondering how to explain it, "well, I am an orphan and I lived with my Aunt and Uncle." Calling Vernon and Petunia as such tasted strange, but the best way to escape this conversation, which was increasingly becoming uncomfortable.

"I don't recall James having siblings, I didn't know him well mind you, he was many years above me and in Gryffindor. And Gryffindor's have little time to spear on Ravenclaws," Harry's eyes lit up and his head shot up, searching the eyes of the professor for anything about his father.

"You knew my dad?" His excited voice entered. The professor's face shifted strangely; it looked odd. His face appeared the same but seemed more forced somehow. His voice darkened.

"I did, we can talk about that later. Before that though, remember what I said about my turban young man, now go to lunch, wouldn't want to miss out on eating with your friends." He turned; his voice hard. Harry couldn't tell if tried another joke or if the man didn't know either way, it was cruel, Harry had no friends, he was alone.

The Four of Cups.

In the Great Hall Harry sat at the end of the table, a full person's length away from his roommate. He added food to his plate when Goyle turned his attention to him.

"Already in trouble on your first day, Potter?" The boy seemed less hard than Harry was accustomed to.

"Oh Greg, what makes you say that?" Draco asked him.

Goyle looked down in slight resignation for what he had done as if he felt bad for his question. "Well, as I was leaving class, I saw Professor Quirrell going up to talk to him."

"Really, wow Potter. I've never known someone to get kicked from class for being a squib in the first class. Especially when they used no magic ." This time Nott spoke. "Maybe he smelt the dirt."

Harry never replied to them, picking over his food, his appetite gone.

"What, did the muggles never teach you to speak?" Interjecting was a female voice, Parkinson. "Whatever, anyway Draco, what did you think of that muggle lovers' class?"

People trickled into the Great Hall again, having had their classes released. The rest of the first years entered smiling and laughing. He picked at his food, disappointed in himself for not eating it but not being able to find the will.

"He seems to know what he is doing, so the headmaster has that going for him, apparently, they still haven't found Professor Mulgrave and don't even know where to begin their search."

"Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard," Lily Moon chastised the boy, "I never understood why you always see it fit to dishonor him."

"Politics," Blaise responded with a single word, looking uncomfortable. Lily stared, her face blank.

Daphne Greengrass expanded upon the statement since Blaise was acting as if his answer was enough of an explanation. "Lucius Malfoy is one of the main figureheads of the conservative party. Whereas Dumbledore is the driving force behind much of the liberal agendas. This is despite his claim that he is nonpolitical." Her voice was practiced, she constructed each syllable to sound perfect.

"It doesn't help that Professor Dumbledore has a tonne of political weight, the love of the people, and the savvy to block nearly every proposition that Mr. Malfoy has put up this last year." Tracey Davis, a brunette with curly hair and a plain face. He noticed a look of disgust shot at her by Nott and Crabbe. The looks lasted till a hard glare from the piercing blue eyes of Greengrass made them yield.

"Yes, yes," Draco said, his ability to control any surrounding crowd was a wonder. When he spoke, people listened. His voice was smooth when he wanted it, and captivated those nearby, "Professor Dumbledore is very good at all of his jobs, I swear the man has rediscovered how to build a Simulacrum somehow."

From the table behind a voice cut in, Li if he remembered correctly. Her voice had a strange accent attached to it. Turning to look at her she fashioned as one of, if not the best-dressed person in the room, with a subtle golden necklace draping to her breast marked with an odd-looking stone, a regal-looking beret adorned in her soft straight black hair. Her apparel only amplified that which was natural to her, she appeared Chinese with cunning brown eyes, "At home, they say the Langgan Emperor has as many Simulacrums as countries in the world, maybe Headmaster won it from him in ten-pin bowling." She said chuckling, a thin accent veiled in practiced English.

"And over here we say the Bloody Immortal is a liar who plays his people like puppets," Nott cut in, a sneer on his face, venom in his tone. Li's face turned to a hideous frown, baring her teeth; she went for her wand. That was until one senior of the table walked past them, ready to leave the hall and overhearing the conversation. The head boy.

He glared at the boy, "That was not polite, definitely not befitting of a future seat holder to have such culturally insensitive views." His voice was more practiced than even Draco's, soft yet projecting power. He was a cool boy with long black hair with a slight wave to it, a black so dark he had only seen once in hair before, his own. His eyes were a gray haze and carried around authority. He was tall and regal, his posture perfect and his grin bright, though now, where the smile normally sat arose a sinister and fierce frown with a set of matching grey orbs.

"I am sorry Cepheus." Nott bowed his head in either embarrassment or shame with a mixture of fear.

"We are in public, Nott." He spat at the boy.

"Sorry Mr. Black."

"Very good," He turned to Li and gave a half-bow, a large degree of respect for his position, "Sorry Miss Li for the slight against your family, please remember that his views are not shared by the whole of Slytherin who hopes for wonderful relations with the Langgan Emperor moving forward." The regal boy's voice was well pronounced and authoritative, despite him apologizing he controlled the conversation. His face wore a smile and held a seductive power.

The girl of his attention had a flood of color to her face, "It's alright Mr. Black, I would never hold the actions of one against the majority." She turned away with a shy blush.

"Thank you." He bowed again and took to leaving the hall only to stop short next to Harry.

"Harry, it is nice to finally meet you, I had wished to see you at the Black Family Christmas at least once, not only are you the future head of the family, but I am told by Regulus how Dorea would be oh so disappointed that you never showed." He gave a quick turn and left the hall, leaving a baffled Harry in his wake. Harry looked around for a safety line but saw that their section of the hall had become a telly with a splendid football match on the focus of even the teacher's table on the spot. He didn't understand why Black told him about the Black Family Christmas. And how was he the head? He caught the eye of Malfoy, who had a strange appearance, a balance of hate and longing.

Harry fled the hall.

The Four of Cups.

The halls of Hogwarts were stunning. Layers of bricks that hummed with power constructed the walls, his favorite being the ones with alluring arch ceilings. After a quick detour to grab Alastair, Harry roamed into the castle proper. His next class was Transfiguration with the stern Professor McGonagall on the first level of the building. He had long since abandoned that floor though, instead opting to follow the twist and turns of the third story, an empty place as most were feasting. As he explored, he found many interesting things, classrooms with wonderful odds and ends still within, paintings of important people from before Merlin, even a haunted broom cupboard which, as he walked past, moaned.

Though as he stalked the halls, he noticed he was being stalked as well.

At first, it was minor things, the sound of faint laughter adding to his footsteps, the racket of clattering as objects behind him fell, the soft ring of bells, the noise of wisping movement, always behind him. It was only as a ball-shaped object connected with his face he knew for certain someone pursued him.

"I got the rotter  
I snagged me a Potter  
I caught him dead  
Be better in bed"

A singing voice, and not pleasurable to listen to, sounded around him as the ball exploded, releasing a foul stench. Harry chocked as his eyes burned, closing them and laying on the floor in the fetal position.

"Look at him lie  
Smells like a sty  
His stink alone  
A reason for no home"

Harry tried to call out for help or for it to stop. It didn't matter, no words could escape.

"The lonely bolt  
Not cut for holt  
The meanie boy  
Has no toys

But Peeves knows  
Just like your toes  
Your reigns running amuck  
Just like four cups"

Harry forced his eyes open, red and crying; his assailant spoke of The Four of Cups, it knew something. He saw another aberration. This one was strange, dressed in real clothes with bright colors, like a court jester, bells and all. His eyes grilled Harry, the orange glow unnatural in every sense, the dead floating around was one thing, Harry's senses told him this was something worse.

"He reads and reads  
Yet he bleeds and bleeds  
The throne she sat  
Bores the fool's hat

Without the sun  
You'll burn as a bun  
Without clear mind  
In the tower, you'll reside

You'll pick the sword  
Or be embered  
Walk with thirteen   
Or join it in between

I got the rotter  
I snagged me a Potter  
I caught him dead  
Be better in bed"

The little man broke away, leaving a sobbing, confused, and coughing boy alone on the third floor.

The Four of Cups.

Harry stumbled into the Transfiguration room, sweating, stinking, and crying. Professor McGonagall was marking attendance when he arrived in the classroom. She stared at him as if he was a specter of the past, an echo of a time lost. It distracted her until the gagging started. Near the boy children covered their exposed noses with the flaps of their robes, matching tears on their faces as the ones on Harry. His hands positioned on his knees and his breathing heaved, each breath brought with it a more sickening smell.

"Mr. Potter, I hope you have an excellent reason for being late?"

"No ma'am, sorry ma'am" Harry let out, taking the furthest seat in the class, hoping to spare his fellow students from the terrible odor, it spared no member of the room, snake and eagle alike glared. The stench continued its deadly pursuit to claim the whole classroom as row after row of students fell to its unnatural stink.

"How did you get a dungbomb Potter? It's the first day of class," Zabini yelled over the room in amazement, coughing the entire time. The professor gazed in his direction, but her eyes never saw him. Her expression became pensive as she leaned over her desk.

"He's a Potter since when has time ever stopped them?" She questioned herself as the class gaped at her. Her mind suddenly catching up to the present she bore into the late child, "I should hope I will not find them in my office, or Slytherin should lose so many points a decade from now they still will be negative." Despite the harsh words, her voice had a bounce of joy new to the group. Harry went to defend himself but found himself cut off by the professor returning to roll. By the time her introductory seminar was complete, Harry no longer stank of a sewer. The class finished, and the two groups made their way to charms.

Harry once again sat alone as the sprite professor explained charms, how it comprised the most diverse subjects and had the most branches. It was entertaining to watch the small man hop around the class as he lectured, using his wand to show the many tasks that could be accomplished, if only one knew the proper words and motions. He even mentioned how next class they would try a spell, Lumos, the same one that had stalled Harry the past morning.

After his classes, Harry stuck near his fellow student, or as near as they let him, praying to avoid the monster of Peeves again.

The Four of Cups.

The following dinner was less festive than the former two. Many students intermingled throughout the Great Hall, talking with friends both old and new. Joyous laughter and bitter complaining sounded all around as old and young students discussed the first day of classes. His table still sat segregated, with Harry alone. He skimmed his copy of Carpe Diem Collective while devouring his food, his hunger ever-growing in his new setting, despite his turning stomached unrelated to his heath. Cornelius Fudge had bungled a trade treaty with the Republic of Egypt, under the rule of 'king' Hamed Al Sadat, which was the foremost source of many magical ingredients, the implications of the loss unknown, though the main ingredient in wolfsbane will now skyrocket. In other news, a horrible storm started off the coast of Taiwan, in the Philippine Sea. Eyewitnesses said it was the worst they had ever seen, and a crackpot saw a tentacle monster rising from the depths. France would host next year's Quidditch World Cup.

The time waiting for Astronomy had Harry follow his classmates, the hours stretched thin in his lonesome walk. The training provided by his former guardians was helpful for the task. Eventually the sun set, and the group moved to the joint astronomy class. The entire class of first years arrived at the seventh floor of the East Tower, referred to as the Astronomy Tower, and looked upon the landscape branching out. To the south the Black Lake loomed eerie and dangerous, east held the sprawling township of Hogsmeade, a town so large the horizon appeared before its edge, to the north rolling shadow's of hills glistened in the starlight, to the west was the Forbidden Forest. The expansive forest sucked the light from the stars overhead, holding nothing but a rustling mass of shadow, banked on the sea of trees stood a single brown hut, a small abode with puffs of smoke spewing from a stone chimney. Above them the sky shone in a wondrous beauty unknown to Harry, the universe towering above Harry had never been so clear and busy. The streets of London held no equal to how cramped they were until Harry saw the sky for the first time, bundles of clouds moved in front of the peppered starfield. The sun's above each housing planets of their own were uncountable, the insignificance of his life was on display when compared to everything.

"Welcome students to your first Astronomy lesson." A quiet voice echoed over the silent chamber. The tribulation of transition from gawking at the ocean on high to watching his profession weighed on Harry. The professor introduced herself as Sinistra. She was a short woman with an appearance freckled mirroring the sky. Her wavy hair hung under her little hat full of shining constellations. The class was not the total length of the normal session, students practicing how to put their telescopes together being the only task. The sharp professor flew around the room to help Harry's struggling peers, her grace unmatched by most dancers. When Harry achieved his construction, he peered through and made up stories for the shapes he found, tales of friends coming for him, and he located his lighting bolt in the west. Once the entire class finished and packed, they headed to bed, a majority through shut eyes.

Another night without conversation had Harry quickly sleeping.

In his dreams, he saw the horrible sky.

In his dreams, he screamed.

The Four of Cups.


End file.
